The Fire that melts the Stone: Garen x Katarina Fanfic
by OHaiMark
Summary: A Garen x Kataraina Fanfic. AU. Comments, Reviews, and Critiques appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Its the first chapter of a Garen x Katarina fanfic. Can't get these two out of my head for some reason, so I thought, hey why not do something about it. I take some liberties with the lore. And by some liberties, I mean_ all _the liberties. Benjamin Franklin is jelly of all the liberties I got. If you see something in here that you can't find in the lore, odds are I made it up. I also changed some names. Anyway, enjoy! Or don't, it's a free internet._

"For all that's detestable about Noxus, I hear they have some choice cunt." Jarvan casually spoke to Garen.

The soldiers around Garen and Prince Jarvan chuckled. Garen risked a glance at his father and the king at the head of the procession. If they had heard Prince Jarvan's words they gave no sign.

Garen sighed. Jarvan always had a way of shattering his more contemplative moments.

 _The way an urchin's wayward rock shatters a stained glass window._ Garen thought.

Garen had been reflecting on the mighty pines and firs looming above their small company of soldiers. The trees stood like great brown green sentinels, their thickets scattering the light of the sun like a glass prism. The smells of pines and sap were heavy in the air as their company's horses trotted through the brown underbrush. A gust of wind passed and sent dead foilage scattering and the banners of Demacia and house Dragonbane flapping in the wind.

 _And his mind is lost in a woman's privates._

Typical Jarvan, did he not understand that he and their company were on their way to what may be the most singularly important event in Demacian history for—

A soft voice spoke on Garen's side. "Garen, what's a cunt?"

Garen's heart did not so much as sink, rather it was shot down to his bowels as though an archer had fired an arrow from atop the trees and into his chest. Garen heard his neck crack as his head snapped to the voice. Sure enough, he saw his golden haired sister atop her mount, Moonprancer, alongside them. Across Luxanna's sweet face was spread an achingly innocence smile.

(If Garen had been a little less distracted he might have noticed her smile was a little _too_ innocent)

Jarvan continued. "I am not suggesting I would give a Noxian the lord's kiss, but I also wouldn't be adverse to trying some Noxian cherry p—"

Despite himself Garen elbowed his Prince-Regent in the ribs.

Jarvan grunted. "Oh come now Garen there's no need for..." His eyes found Luxanna. "Oh...ooh."

Luxanna tilted her head. "Jarvan, what is a cunt?"

Garen gave Jarvan a hard look.

Jarvan looked between Garen and Luxanna. "Er...what I said was bundt, as in bundt cake. I hear Noxus is oddly renowned in the ways of baked goods."

Luxanna looked up and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Bundt cake huh? You know I think mom often makes bundt cake, especially for father. She's always trying to shove her bundt in father's face." Jarvan gave a sneeze that sounded dangerously close to a snort of laughter, and evidently the Prince's sudden allergies were shared by the soldiers around them.

Luxanna continued with a hint of a smile on her lips. "But I don't think father likes it. He tells me mother's bundt is usually dry, salty, and smells funny."

All attempts at concealment were given for lost as Jarvan and the soldiers burst into laughter. Garen felt the blood drain from his face, and again glanced at father and the king. Again there was no sign they heard. Garen sighed, furrowed his brow, and looked to Luxanna.

This time he _did_ see her smile was too sweet.

As the soldiers laughed around them Garen leaned close to his sister and whispered through gritted teeth. "Dear sister, sweet sister, you and I both know mother does not bake bundt cakes. She bakes _lemon cakes_ and father finds them delectable."

The fluttering of Luxanna's eyelashes would have put a hummingbird to shame. "Oh! Is that so, brother, I must have forgotten! Do lemon cakes count as bundt? If so then father spends most of his waking hours at home with his face buried in mother's bundt."

A fresh burst of laughter. The blood came back to Garen's face with a vengeance, and he had to shut his eyes to keep himself from shaking.

Jarvan's words were choked with laughter as he said. "Luxanna, stop! Please, gods alive, look at what you're doing to poor Garen!"

Garen reached for Moonprancer's reigns. But the black-spotted white horse lived up to her name and danced away from his hands.

Garen shouted. "Luxanna come here!"

Luxanna responded by putting the heels to Moonprancer and shooting off into the woods, giggling as she darted through the trees.

Garen's anger left as quickly as it came. He always found it difficult staying angry at his sister. Even at her worst Garen's affection for her always won over.

As he watched her guide Moonprancer through the trees his mind went to when he first saw Luxanna. From the moment mother brought the babe bundled in her arms ten years ago, he felt a love for his sister that was stronger than any love he had known before. At first he felt guilty of it, as though his strong love was a betrayal of his parents. He had idolized his father as a child, a tall broad shouldered man with dark-brown hair who looked as though he could carry the world on his back without so much as a grunt. He had loved his mother too, a face so much like Luxanna's yet fuller and more stern, with dark hair instead of light, cascading to her shoulders. Father was his hero, while his mother was his place of refuge, songs, and stories. But the day they brought Luxanna home, when he first laid eyes on her, when he reached out to her and she grasped his finger, something had awoken in him. He did not have the words for it then, but he did now.

Devotion. She was his little sister, she was delicate, fragile, and this awoke in him a sense of duty he did not know he had. Garen liked to believe it was then he truly began to understand what it meant to be Demacian. The mantra of Demacia was Vigilance, Honor, and Courage. But these words were just a different way to say another word, Love. Love of family, love of neighbor, love of country, love of the gods and all that was good in life. As he watched his giggling sister disappear into the small host behind them, Garen was reminded why Demacia held so tight to its values. Demacia practiced vigilance, treasured honor, and had courage so that what they love might endure. He had once told Jarvan as much four years ago. They were merely boys of twelve, reading books on the history of Demacia in the castle's study.

Jarvan had laughed then. "Garen, only you could make Demacia's words sound even sillier."

At first Garen thought it a mistake to tell Jarvan what he thought, but Garen swore from that moment forward Jarvan seemed to take their lessons with the scholars and priests more seriously, and he never cracked wise so much in the ceremonies.

Now Garen turned his eyes to his friend and his Prince-Regent. Jarvan and the soldier continued to laugh, the sound bouncing off the trees, making it sound as if the pines and firs were laughing with them.

Garen thought. _Mayhaps I have had no effect on him at all._

His father's voice brought him out of his thoughts and into the present. "At attention men! Stormflower Hold is within sight!"

His father, as always, told it true, and only a moment later the woods parted to show a great outcropping, and in its center stood the ruined walls of Stormflower Hold.

Stormflower Hold must have been a mighty sight to behold in its golden age. The walls stood almost as high as the ancient trees, dark grey stone cobbled by deft and dedicated hands hundred of years ago. It had been nearly one-hundred-and-fifty years after the Noxian siege which broke the city. A new siege began, then this one by time, the elements, vines, and moss. Though the city fell, the walls still held. Legend had it that Stormflower Hold was founded by a wandering group of survivors from the Rune War. Unnatural storms raged across the world then, churning oceans and pummeling mountains to dust. After such a storm these survivors were said to have stumbled across a small outcropping that had remained untouched by the storms. In the center of this outcropping bloomed a single flower. The survivors took it as a sign from the gods, named it Stormflower Hold, and built one of the first settlement since the end of the Rune War. Looking at the mighty walls Garen found the tale credible.

Father and the King's company had stopped so Garen's and Jarvan's could converge. When they did so the king looked to his son. To Garen, King Jarven's face exemplified Demacian fatherhood. It was firm, but gentle, strong, yet caring. Now, as King Jarvan looked to his son, his was stern. "Son, you know what comes next." It was not a question.

Garen looked to Jarvan, any mirth Luxanna's jape had produced was now gone from his face so completely Garen wondered if it was ever there.

Jarvan said. "Yes father."

"Son." His father's voice was soft but stalwart.

Garen turned to his own father and nodded his consent, a queer dread filling his chest.

His father smiled then, his chiseled face wrinkling at the corner of his eyes. "Say the words of our house, my son."

The dread grew, but he would not falter. "Our heart and soul, always for Demacia."

Father smiled. "Our heart and soul, always for Demacia." Father's face became grim determination as he donned his helm. "Vanguard, to the king!"

The dozen Dauntless Vanguard formed ranks around the king. The smell of horse and men almost overpowering the smell of pine and sap as hooves tore earth and grass alike. And then they were off, heading for Stormflower Hold.

Garen looked to Jarvan. His friend looked strained, and with a hint of...what? Anger? But why would the Prince be _angry_? Garen put a hand on Jarvan's shoulder. Jarvan jumped, looking as though he forgot Garen was there. The Prince-Regent gave him a smile that did not meet his eyes.

Garen said. "Jarvan, do not fear for our fathers. Not even Noxus would be so treacherous as to attack the king and Vanguard at an armistice."

Jarvan shook his head. "Oh Garen, dear Garen."

Garen said. "Do you think Noxus is that craven?"

Jarvan looked across the field. "I wouldn't have believed it possible for Noxus to call for an armistice. Now, I'm not sure _what_ Noxus is capable of."

The dread returned and Garen looked after his father.

Garen missed the sad look Jarvan gave him.

Jarvan thought. _Garen is true and sure as steel. But he's a soldier._

Garen was no fool, to be sure. There was a depth to him that could still surprise Jarvan even after eleven years. But Garen was a soldier, and he had the luxury of looking only upon battles that were waged with sword and shield. Jarvan was a Prince-Regent, and he had to look beyond the battles fought with steel. From the first Jarvan knew that something was wrong when he heard the news of the armistice. Noxus was at the height of its power, having conquered nearly six-tenths of the provinces and city-states across Valoran. To call an for an Armistice now...

Jarven thought. _There's no other option. Father is right. They_ know...

How it was possible Jarvan could not—

A lone figure rode out of Stormflower. He held a banner, and it took only a moment for Jarvan to recognize it. A black lotus, dripping crimson tears on a field of white.

The sigil of house Du Coateau.

 _It can't be._..

But Jarvan soon saw it was. He had never met the man in person, but he had seen his visage across countless letters over the years. Marcus DuCoateau, the High General of Noxus, was riding out to meet his father.

 _And he's riding alone._

Jarvan's horse must have sensed his confusion and anger, because the animal whinnied and stamped.

Garen shook him. "Jarvan what is—"

Jarvan spat. "Open your eyes Garen, _it's him!_ "

Garen's eyes turned to DuCoateau, narrowed, and then widened. "No..."

Jarvan shook his head. Garen still didn't understand. Father, Pieter, the Vanguard, they _wanted_ to be attacked. They _hoped_ Noxus would take the bait and break the armistice before it even began. Then the realm would know them false, and then—

DuCoateau reached father's party. His father and Pieter broke ranks to meet him. Jarvan held his breath. For a moment nothing happened, then father and DuCoateau clasped hands.

 _Damn that Noxian bastard._ Jarvan punched his thigh. Even at this turn they had been outdone.

Jarvan was riding out even before the Vanguard waived the banner, giving them the signal to follow. This time it was Jarvan who failed to see the look on Garen's face.

Garen watched Jarvan ride out and wondered again why the King had thought it wise to bring the Prince-Regent. Even after sixteen years at court, Jarvan the IV lacked the moderation of the III. He began to ride when he heard an all too familiar voice to his side.

Luxanna said. "Garen, what is going on?"

Garen was surprised to find there was no anger in him, only resolve. Without even looking at his sister he looked to the soldier closest to him. It was Petran, a tan-skinned burly woman with a delicate face that somehow didn't clash with her powerful physique. It was a blessing she was so close, she was one of the finest in their company.

Garen said. "Petran, escort my sister back to the inn at Goldenlamp and remain with her."

Petran seemed tightly taken aback, but when she saw Garen's face she straightened and said. "Yes, Lord Son." Garen raised his eyebrow and she corrected herself. "Lord Crownguard, sir."

Garen sighed inwardly. He didn't know which he disliked more, that even the soldiers had gotten to calling him "the Son of Demacia" or that they were calling him "lord." It didn't matter, what mattered was getting his sister to safety.

Luxanna said. "Garen let me come with you!"

Garen turned to face her. Her small face was squeezed into determination.

Garen said. "No, Luxanna. You will return to mother in Goldenlamp."

Luxanna opened her mouth to protest, but then she saw the look on his face. All the rebellion faded from her. She looked away from him and muttered. "Alright, Garen."

Despite himself his heart went out to her. In spite of the annoyance her stubborn wildness caused him, it always hurt him to see her spirit go out of her like this. It was like seeing a bright star fade into the night, and it made him oddly sad. He began to move to comfort her, when she reached from her mount, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek.

He muttered into her ear. "Keep mom safe."

Luxanna said. "Alright, be safe Garen." Then she turned and began to ride back the way they came.

Garen nodded to Petran, and she followed his sister.

Garen turned to the other soldiers in his company.

"Soldiers to me!" The air was alive with the sounds of stamping and the rustle of plate as the soldiers formed ranks around Garen. Garen shouted. "To the king!" And they rode to meet the king, his father, and the High General of Noxus.

"Will father come back soon?"

Katarina turned to her little sister. Her small pretty face encased by her brown hair, braided for the occasion. Katarina lightly stroked her sister's cheek.

Katarina said. "Yes _mon sucre_ he will be back soon."

Cassiopeia took Katarina's hand. "And then you will go away?"

Katarina grimaced internally. "Only for a little while, Cassi."

Her sister squeezed her hand. "Promise?"

Katarina said. "I promise."

Cassiopeia threw her arms around Katarina's waist and hugged her tight.

Katarina said. "Cassi, be careful, we mustn't mess up our dresses." Katarina hugged her back all the same.

The servants had dressed her and Cassiopeia in the finery of their house's ancient culture. In other words fluffy, delicate, and lacy. Katarina hated it, so naturally Cassiopeia loved it. It spoke volumes to Katarina that Cassiopeia was willing to risk messing her dress to hug her one last time. Katarina disgraced herself by feeling like crying.

 _There can be no signs of weakness, especially now._

Katarina looked up to Talon. Her brother by all but blood looked at them solemnly. The sharpness of his features was especially accentuated by his pulled back hair. He had also been dressed in the ancient Pre-Noxian culture of house Du Coateau, after the male fashion of course.

 _It would be funny to see Talon in a dress._

She smiled. Still, the male finery wasn't much different. It was only slightly less silly, but equally as useless.

Talon's eyes met her own.

She nodded to Cassiopeia. _Keep her safe. Help her when I'm gone._

Talon put his hand over his heart and nodded.

Again, Katarina disgraced herself by feeling the urge to cry.

 _Stupid weak little girl!_

She could not allow herself to show signs of weakness in front of the Demacians, especially as a woman.

She remembered when her father had first warned her about the hardships she must endure because the gods saw fit to "bless" her with a cunt rather than a cock. She had been nine, they had finished training with blades when he put his hands on her shoulders and knelt down.

"Katarina, you must remember, men will look at you and see weakness. They will see weakness simply because you are a woman. Sometimes you can use that to your advantage, but you must never show them your real weakness."

She had replied. "I must get rid of my weakness, right father?"

They were in the dark undercroft of the Du Coateau Estate. Down there the air always had the smell of cold and the taste of mildew. It was towards the end of their session for the day, the fire in the braizers had burned so low as to almost be embers. The soft light gave father a dark look. "Get rid of those weaknesses you can, my daughter. No man can rid himself of all weakness."

Now _that_ was something Marcus DuCoateau would never say in front of anyone. Anyone except her or Cassiopeia. One of the primary tenents of Noxus, _never_ admit weakness. That tenent was followed closely by another, _never_ show weakness.

She glanced around her. Besides herself and her sister, there were the twenty or so soldiers father brought into the Hold, two of his leftenents, and Talon. One of the leftenents was tall and broad, with skin the color of night. She did not know his name. She did know the other. Jericho Swain, a sharp-faced man with pale skin and white hair to his shoulders. Of them all, only Swain watched her and Cassiopeia.

 _Even showing this much weakness is dangerous._

She did not believe any of these men would turn on her father, but she had read enough history to know that many great rulers had absolute confidence in their companions as well.

 _Up till they found their throat slit by the ones they trusted the most._

But she would not deny Cassiopeia this last embrace.

 _Get rid of those weaknesses you can._

Could she get rid of this weakness? It did not matter. She would not.

 _Some weaknesses are worth the risk of keeping._

She began to stroke Cassi's hair.

As Garen looked upon the city that had once been Stormflower Hold he thought. _The walls may have withstood the test of time, but the city has long since died._

And so it was, half of the buildings were made of stone, yet they were not of the same quality as the walls and were in various degrees of disrepair. The other half of the buildings, or rather what was left of them, had been made of wood and long since gone to rot. The city reeked of animal and mold as their company marched, the sounds of their horses echoing off stone walls.

Jarvan said. "It is a shame the villagers never tried to rebuild."

Garen nodded his agreement. The walls did not fall, but the second siege had lasted for four years, and the Noxians barred anyone enter or leave. The first siege had been seven years prior, and Stormflower Hold called upon Demacia for aid. Demacia answered the call.

 _We fight for those who cannot._ Garen looked at a small pile of rubbish and stone on the side of the worn stone path and sighed.

By calling upon Demacia, Stormflower Hold had begun the War for Valoran. Demacia came and drove off the Noxian invaders, and Noxus had suffered its first military defeat since the early days of Noxian conquest. Noxus did not take that insult lightly. When Noxus had first sieged Stormflower Hold it was guessed only around five percent of the Noxian hosts were there. For the second the number was closer to sixty. Demacia had tried to aid Stormflower yet again, but even Demacia could not make it through sixty percent of the Noxian host with ease. If Stormflower Hold had held for another year Demacia might have freed the city. Alas, four years under siege and embargo was too much for Stormflower Hold, and the city had to open its gates and surrendered.

Noxus, however, wasn't looking to conquer Stormflower Hold. Noxus intended to make an example of it. These were the dark days of Noxus, when its cruelty and barbarity were at its peak. The slaughter that followed was unlike any crime Noxus had committed before or after, and that was saying much. The raping of women, the killing of children and elderly, the dashing of babes against rocks, all the horrors of Noxian war were unleashed that day upon Stormflower Hold. The historians guess that only a third of Stormflower Hold escaped that day. If Garen remembered correctly it was Chronicler Herulem who speculated the Noxians let them go to spread the tale. Perhaps they assumed it would be a lesson to other provinces and city-states that would seek to defy Noxus. It was a lesson, just not the one Noxus wanted. That day Valoran saw what Noxian rule looked like, and they saw the only ones with the strength and vigilance to stand against them.

 _Demacia is the light and hope of Valoran._

Garen eyed General DuCoateau. He was a sturdily built man, with a strong face covered with a large-but-trimmed moustache. He wore a suit of elaborate black iron armor, crimson finery worked into almost every inch of it. On his cape laid the sigil of Noxus, and engraved on his pauldrons were the bleeding white lotus of his house. The last siege of Stormflower Hold had been almost two-hundred years past, and Noxus had become (relatively) more civilized. Moreover this man had nothing to it.

 _But if it meant Noxian victory, would he show the barbarity and cruelty of his ancestors?_

He thought he knew the answer, and put his hand on the pommel of his sword.

Soon they were passing under half of an old stone arch and walking towards what appeared to be the remains of a great amphitheater.

And then he saw her.

The priests and priestesses said that when you died, the gods sent their emissaries to carry your soul away to judgment. The emissaries were said to be of human visage, but transcendent in beauty. He recalled seeing depictions of them upon the basilica's ceilings in his youth, and marveling how such beauty could exist in the world. Upon looking at her, his first thought was that he must have died, and he now stood before such an emissary. His second thought was that there must have been some sort of mistake in the court of the gods. Demacia's gods were from the court of the Ivory Lady, the Ebony Lord, and the Hound of the Night. Demacia's gods were loving, stern, but fair. This emissary could not be from them. No, she could only be from a god of passion and fire. The face of the girl he looked upon now had the ferocity of a wildfire, with the beauty of a crimson dawn. Her hair was the red of an Edessan rose and she wore it in a long elaborate braid which fell to her shoulder. The first word that came to his mind when he saw her eyes were "emerald" but he dismissed it. He had never seen an emerald in court which shone so repletely or with such luster.

Her eyes fell on him. For a moment everything stopped. He forgot everything. Who he was, where he was, _why_ he was, he had no answer. Nor did he find himself to need one, there was only her. She was all that mattered. A moment passed. An eternity passed. And then her soft lips worked...

into a sneer.

She looked away from him then, and he felt a sadness he had never known. He had felt worse sadness, when Uncle Dafvid had passed

 _was murdered_

when he was only ten, and three years ago when his childhood friend Eini had passed after succumbing to a Freljordian arrow in the North Marches. The first was terrible, but it was a pain of a child, stupid and innocent. The second was worse, it could only be described as an aching emptiness in his heart. Both hurts were worse than the one he felt now, but there was something so strange about the way her sneer hurt him. His heart felt like it was bursting and shriveling up all at once. It felt—

Something hard hit his ribs with enough force to elicit a gasp. He turned to find Jarvan staring at him intently, his elbow in Garen's side. Garen's world came flooding back to him, and he remembered where he was and what was happening. While he was...out, someone had brought a table and two chairs to the center of the stone dais. King Jarvan sat on one end, DuCoateau the other, and a dark-skinned Noxian stood near the table.

The Dark skin Noxian spoke with an accent Garen thought came from the jungles of Kalamanda. "Are the terms acceptable to King Jarvan Dragonbane III?"

King Jarvan nodded.

The dark-skinned Noxian said, "And are the terms acceptable to you, General?"

The High General stroked his moustache, gave the scarlet-haired girl a look, and said. "Yes."

The dark-skinned Noxian bowed. "Then by all the laws of the land, the Armistice has begun. As per the arrangements, General, please hand over your daughter for ward."

The general motioned, and the scarlet-haired girl began to walk towards the Demacian host.

Garen felt an odd sense of panic and excitement. "Why is that girl coming here?"

Jarvan considered Garen, then said. "That is Katarina DuCoateau, and she is House Dragonbane's new ward."


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors note:_

 _Howdy! I wanted to thank those who are interested in this story. I apologize for not writing sooner. I am a slow writer and I have quite a bit going on in my life (real world stuff,_ **bleh** _right?) I don't know how regularly I will be able to post in the next couple of months, but I do have every intention to finish this story. Maybe then I can get Katarina and Garen out of my damn head._

 _A few warnings, however. While I do envisage and intend for there to be lemons (sweet sweet salty sour lemons), I do not envisage it happening for a while. I try to give the characters room to grow and and gain control, so they may stray from the plot I envisage. Still, I do not see the lemons coming until much latter, and a lot of stuff will happen between now and then._

 _Also, fair warning, I envisage things getting_ weird. _Like a god-like entity creating an alternate dimension and transporting LoL characters to live in it for giggles weird. Also there may or may not be Rick and Morty knock offs in the far future (not actual Rick and Morty, I do_ not _want to attempt to write them). Like I said, weird. But the weirdness is also set to be later. More to the point, the weirdness and Lemons I envisage coinciding._

 _Warnings and apologies aside, please enjoy the next chapter! Or don't! It is (for now) a free internets._

 **Katarina:**

Today Katarina would draw a knife across Jarvan the IV's throat.

Katarina held the small bread knife up to the morning sun and appreciated the winking glint the light made upon it. The knife was far too dull to do any real damage, but Jarvan would not know that.

 _Sense and courage tend to leave men when they feel the cold press of steel to their throat._

Sense and courage, among other things. She grimaced and hoped Jarvan was not a total craven.

Katarina sat in a cushioned white elderwood chair, behind the elderwood vanity desk in her room. Or rather the room Jarvan the III so "graciously" provided her. The Demacians had gone through great efforts to make it appear both welcoming and familiar. In the former they succeeded, while the latter they botched, and she was not sure which she hated more. The furniture was delicate and luxurious, with finery adorning everything. All of it was in the color of black and crimson, the colors of her house. Doubtless they had expected for her to the take the gesture as a great honor, and perhaps to make her feel welcome. They had misjudged on both counts. The message of welcome was plain to be sure, but the finery made her gag, and the coloring she took as an insult.

 _You might put silk on iron bars, it does not make it any less a prison._

She found the carpet which dominated the room to be particularly distasteful. It was of ornate silk, which if she had to guess by the material and the design, was imported from Ionia.

 _I wonder what they could be trying to imply by that?_

She could make a guess.

 _Perhaps they_ do _mean to insult me after all._

Regardless, atop the carpet a delicate needle work mural unfurled across its length. At least she thought it was needlework, it looked too precise to be otherwise. Maidens danced across strange city streets, silks of blue, purple, and green twirling in their hands as musicians pranced behind them. The musicians carried instruments as varied in their color as the silks, with designs Katarina thought familiar, but upon closer inspection she found she did not know them. Strange lights (she assumed fireworks) exploded in the sky above them, and two great figures, one male the other female (she could not tell if they were heroes or gods) stood side by side atop a great hill in the foreground, and radiated light across the scene. It was the kind of mural a little girl with dreams of heroes and ladies would fall head over heels for.

When Katarina first laid eyes on the mural, it took every fiber of her being to not tear it to shreds.

 _They made this room for my sister, not for me._

Her sister. The thought of her made Katarina's heart heavy.

 _Has she grown any taller since I've seen her? I—_

She was saved from her thoughts by a light knock. Katarina slid the knife into her dress sleeve, picked up the feather pen nearby, and began to smooth out the paper on her desk.

A muffled voice came through the door. "Lady Du Couteau?"

The Laundry Woman. She put the feather pen down.

"Come in." Katarina called.

The dark mahogany door opened to reveal a woman who was tall, lithe, light of hair and eye, and olive skinned.

She was also a Noxian spy. From what Katarina knew it had cost her father much to get her here undetected.

 _And how could it not? A spy in the Rock of Kings? Had they ever successfully planted a spy so close to the King and Prince?_

The Laundry Woman smiled at Katarina. "How are you today, milady?"

Katarina returned the smile. "I am fine, Jennia, how are you?"

Jennia was not her real name, Katarina did not know her real name, but she doubted it sounded anything like "Jennia." Katarina guessed the woman to be from the great dessert lands of Shurima, or at least of the dessert blood.

 _She might have been one of father's spies along the southern border. For her to have come up all the way from Shurima, and to have found herself in the employ of house Dragonbane in the course of a few months, the planning and execution must have been exact._

The letter father had sent Katarina told her of "Jennia's" coming, as well as code words for in which they could speak. Father had said (or rather implied) that direct communication between them would be too dangerous, such letters were prime targets for interception, and he guessed the Demacian's already checked the letters before they arrived. The simplest and safest way would be communication from the plant, typified in a code. And it was in that code she now spoke.

"How is your family, by Bear's Forest?" Katarina said.

 _"Do you have news of my family?"_ Katarina meant.

The Laundry Woman, or rather "Jennia" spoke as she brought fresh clothes and laid them on Katarina's bed. "They are doing fine, milady, though the season has not been kind to the rose garden. My cat does miss playing in the roses."

Jennia meant. _"I have no pressing news from your father, but your sister misses you."_

Katarina almost started. _Why would father risk that bit of information?_

"Oh dear, that's no good, has your cat found another place to play? Although, I must say, it is funny to hear of your cat."

 _"Is Cassiopeia finding ways to adjust? Why did father tell you to tell me this?"_

Jennia looked Katarina in the eyes. "Yes, but my dear cat does love those roses, as does my grandfather."

 _"Cassiopeia is finding ways to adjust. I am telling you this because both your father and sister love you."_

That father would deliver a message so unimportant in regards to the Noxian war effort, to have passed it through the chain of spies, to have risked alerting rivals as to how precious his daughter was to him, all this to deliver a message of love, even if indirectly, it spoke more than the words themselves. Katarina remembered the last goodbyes in the ruin of Stormflower's Hold. Her sister's losing struggle to hold back tears, and the moistness of father's eyes as she left, so subtle and restrained that only one who knew her father like she and her sister could notice.

 _Was it sadness in his eyes then, or pride?_

His hands still crossed, Marcus DuCouteau tapped the left chest of his breastplate, where the clasp bore the mark of house Du Couteau.

 _Victory is our Honor._ His gesture had said.

The words of House DuCouteau.

She had pressed a finger to the necklace between her breasts, hidden by the ornate dress. On it was a small knife, no longer than her middle finger, and on the knife was indented the sigil of her house.

 _Victory is our Honor._ She had said back.

She wore the necklace now, and realized she was mindless touching it through her dress.

 _Show no weakness, damn you girl!_ She thought to herself.

Jennia was almost done with the clothes. "Is there anything else I can help you with, milady?"

 _Now._

"Yes, actually." Katarina began. "I was wondering if you knew where Lord Jarvan is going to be this afternoon?"

Jennia's eyes widened for an instant, and contracted to normal in the next. "Milady? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Katarina had to tread carefully, they were going off the coded language. Katarina let the knife slip from her sleeve and twirled it idly. "Oh, I was just thinking, Jarvan has been so much fun I feel," she stopped twirling the knife "I'd like to play a game with him."

Jennia's eyes flickered between Katarina's face and the bread knife in her hand. "Begging your pardon's, milady, but what kind of game?"

Even though they no longer spoke in the pre-decided coded language, Katarina thought Jennia's words were clear nonetheless. _What are you planning?_

Katarina giggled. "Oh, well Jarvan is such a joker

 _Insufferable prick_

so I thought it would be fun to play a joke on him. A childish joke, to be sure. Nothing too...severe."

 _I'm just going to screw with him, I won't kill him._ She was a bit too direct in the last bit then she wanted to be, but she needed Jennia to understand.

It seemed she did, as Jennia's face relaxed slightly. "Games are always fun, milady, but...will Garen be part of this game?"

Ah yes, Crownguard. The boy who looked at her like a mewling puppy every time he thought she wasn't looking. He wanted her, and while this fact was not _totally_ offensive to her, she paid it little mind. Oh he was handsome, to be sure, a face somehow strong and boyish, an impressive physique, and with pleasant blue eyes, but she had decided a long time ago that she would avoid getting caught up with the opposite sex for as long as she could. She thought after six months he'd take the hint, lose interest, but if anything it got worse.

Katarina smiled. "No, Garen will not be playing."

 _He won't be a problem._ She meant _._

The boy was too infatuated with her to see, much less stop, her plan.

 **Jarven:**

They were in the training yard when Garen finally asked the question Jarvan knew was on his mind.

"I do not understand why you taunt her so." Garen said between breaths. They both stood in front of practice dummies. They had been training in combat for the last hour or so, and they smelled of sweat, dirt, and grass. As always Garen used the blunted great sword, where Jarvan used the blunted spear.

Jarvan leaned on the blunted spear now, and smiled. "Why, whatever do you mean, Garen?"

Garen, lovable oaf he was, took the bait. Putting his sword down he said. "Are you blind man? You constantly berate her, imply insult to her house, and hound her with impetuous questions!"

 _Impetuous questions? Huh, I didn't know questions could be "impetuous."_ Jarvan laughed. "Maybe I am trying to flirt with her, Garen."

The hurt that crossed Garen's face made Jarvan regret his words.

"I jest with you Garen." Jarvan said. "I would never do that to you."

The pain in Garen's face was now replaced by a mask of indifference. It was a mask Jarvan was long since used to, the practiced mask Garen wore when he was in court, or when he was given an order he found distasteful. The mask of duty.

"What your intentions are with lady Du Couteau is none of my concern." Garen said. "Altough..." Jarvan was pleased to hear there was some defiance in his voice now. "I would remind you that she is your house's ward, and it would be amiss—"

Jarvan kicked the spear, twirled it, and thrust the butt into Garen's face.

Garen tilted his neck, dodging it almost casually.

Garen continued. "To do anything untoward to lady—"

Jarvan sighed and brought the spear back. "Garen, I told you, I'm joking. I would never attempt to charm a woman you fancied."

His cheeks flushed, and his eyes widened. Jarvan was delighted (and also a little surprised) to see that the mask Garen honed over the course of his life seemed to crack at the implication. It was subtle crack, but not _that_ subtle.

"I do not..." the lie caught in Garen's throat. "I..it would not—I mean."

Jarvan had to close his eyes and breath to keep himself from doubling over in laughter. He had never seen Garen like this, so...off.

 _Gods alive, he might really be in love._

Not that Jarvan could blame him. Katarina was easily one of the most beautiful women Jarvan ever laid eyes on. Hair like silken fire, a face that could stop a man's heart, and eyes like emerald, there were few women like her. In fact Jarvan was having a hard time thinking of a woman who could compete with her in regards to beauty. He did not need to take long to think of a woman who could compete with her in regards to danger.

There were none. Katarina Du Couteau _might_ be the most beautiful woman Jarvan had ever seen, but she was _without a doubt_ the most dangerous.

 _You can see it in her eyes._ He thought.

He had been trained to look as a soldier and a man who's life was in constant danger, to mind ones surrounding in the case of the onset of battle, to see where the battle might take you, and perhaps where you wanted to take the battle.

Such a disposition seemed practically instinctual to Katarina. Cold, calculating. Every time she would enter a room, like when they supped in the royal dining hall, or when they went to study letters, her eyes would glance to the exits, the corners, the windows, the ceilings, all so fast one who was not trained may have missed it. When you met her, her eyes would look to your waist for weapons, and if she found none her eyes would look to places where you might hide them.

Jarvan had been trained to look in order to avoid danger. Katarina had been trained to _be_ the danger. She did not position herself to be near the exits in rooms, rather to be where she could cut you off. Jarvan would see that wherever one had maximal perspective, wherever one could do the most damage in the room, Katarina went there. And she seemed to do all this without thought.

 _I don't know what would be more disturbing, if she were doing it consciously or unconsciously._

There had been...whispers about a botched hostage situation in Noxus Prime two years ago. Some great family hiring thugs to intimidate another, in this case (and incidentally) this house was a vassal house of Du Couteau. Six men locked themselves in a manse and were threatening to kill the lady and children of the house if their demands weren't met. That night, the lady and the children broke out, and when the guards entered the manse they found all the men dead, some with their throats cut, others with knives sticking out of vital organs. Rumor had it that a single, small, figure had done the work. The figure had their head covered and dressed completely in black. But it was said that in the chaos, a single strand of fire red hair fell from beneath the covering.

 _If it was Katarina, then that must have made her...what twelve?_

Jarvan would not have thought a twelve year old capable of killing six armed mercenaries.

But that was before he met Katarina Du Couteau.

Jarvan looked away from Garen, further down two squires were sparing with sword and morningstar, the dull thud and twang of blade on mace echoing off the Whitestone walls.

"Garen, have you ever been in love?" Jarvan asked.

Garen's spluttering response was answer enough. Jarvan sighed.

 _The Son of Demacia has fallen for a daughter of Noxus, like one of those maiden books._

Jarvan returned his gaze to Garen. His friends face had turned a deeper shade of red.

 _The worse part is...she might actually have feelings for him too._

For certain Katarina did not look to Garen with the same affection he looked to her

 _...but_

Jarvan noticed that her otherwise cold emerald eyes would seem to warm whenever they found Garen. It had been so subtle the first couple of days Jarvan was not sure if he hadn't imagined it, but as the days went on the shift was unmistakable. Her typical search of a room would stop if Garen was there, and her eyes would linger for a second. Whenever she caught Garen looking at her in that _I-have-seen-heaven-in-your-face_ way that Jarvan had thought only existed in cheap books written for pubescent girls, the corners of Katarina's mouth would hitch up ever so slightly.

 _And it seems to be getting worse everyday._

Jarvan wondered whether she herself was aware of her shift in attitude towards Garen.

 _Maybe Garen should be the one to squeeze information out of Katarina._

That had been the true purpose of all his japes and intrusions on Katarina. Jarvan did not think Garen would be too keen on following suit, however.

 _But if I told him the future of Demacia, Valoran, and Runeterra itself may hang on it..._

Jarvan sighed and put his hand on Garen's shoulders. "Come, let us change and return to the library. Scholar Ventas will want us to have memorized the dates of the Rune forging by tomorrow."

They returned to the barracks, the soldiers saluting them as they walked past, and found the room where they had put their clothes. They took their clothes and then walked further into the washrooms, where they cleaned themselves with a bucket of lukewarm water and a bar of common soap. The servants were always aghast at the fact Jarvan and Garen would clean themselves like 'common soldiers,' but, as Garen once told them "All men are equal before the gods, so all men are equal in Demacia. What is good enough for the common soldier is good enough for us."

 _Bleeding Garen._

The fact that men like Garen existed proved the Demacian way of life was a good way. Lady Rushclover and Lord Barrowhall spoke truly, Garen Crownguard was a true Son of Demacia.

After they had cleaned themselves they made their way to the library, taking the path behind the smithy and tanner like they always did. The familiar sound of hammering and the smell of fire, smoke, metal, and leather greeted them as the rounded the stone alcoves and cobblestone walls surrounding the tanner's side. Around this time of day the soldiers were out in the field training or making rounds along the battlement so nobody—

Katarina Du Couteau waited behind the smith and tanner. She wore a red dress, stylized lace across the arms, with a hard black bodice that lifted budding breasts. Jarvan heard Garen gasp when he saw her. Jarvan would have considered that funny, but just then Katarina had made eye contact with him.

A sweet smile spread over Katarina's lips.

Something was horribly wrong.

"Prince Jarvan," Katarina said. Her eyes seemed to glitter with anticipation. But when her eyes fell on Garen, something strange happened. The gleam in her eyes faltered, the smile wavered, as though she were suddenly less sure. Jarvan took the moment to take inventory.

 _We're alone, no soldiers or guards within sight, if we called out our voices would likely be drowned by the smith._

This was a trap.

Jarvan smiled. "Lady Du Couteau, don't you look lovely? As always you are the image of delicate feminine beauty."

Her eyes snapped from Garen to him, any trace of indecision gone.

 _Oh I've done it now._

Her smile sweetened until it soured. "Prince Jarvan! You are always so... _thoughtful_. You say...such the _sweetest_ things!"

She began to walk towards them. Jarvan made note of the immediate area. To their left a wooden wall held up the thatched roof of the tanner, to their right stood a stone wall rose near two stories tall.

 _What is she playing at?_

He did not think Noxus was fool enough to try and assassinate him in the heart of Demacia, especially with Du Couteau's daughter. First, it would be largely useless, he was after all Prince-Regent and not King, and since there was no guarantee the Senate would vote him into the Monarchy after his father passed it would hardly be a major blow to Demacia. Second, Katarina would not make it out alive. Third, it would show Noxus had broken faith, and would thus end the armistice.

Jarvan told himself this, but with each step Katarina took towards them his heart seemed to quicken, and his hand reached for a weapon that was not there.

He realized he was afraid.

 _Damn it man keep a hold of yourself._

Jarvan smiled. "Lady DuCouteau, you meet us in a rather opportune place. Perhaps you had intended to meet someone for a romantic rendezvous? Or perhaps you had intended to meet me for such? Or Garen? Or both of us?"

The insinuation made Katarina pause mid step.

 _The suggestion that she would want to lie with Garen and I_ both _was a bit much, but results speak for themselves._

Katarina's eyes seemed to catch fire. "You are such a _joker_ Prince Jarvan." Her smile became grotesque. "You should consider becoming a _jester,_ it would suit you far better than being a prince!"

Her pace quickened then, she would be on them in two strides.

 _Calm down, Jarvan, she's not planning to do anything. After all, it would be plain folly to attempt an assassination here and now._

It wouldn't just be folly, it would be madness.

 _Unless you've driven her mad with you six months of berating and impetuous questions._

He hadn't considered that.

 _Shit._

Katarina leapt at him, closing the two strides in one, faster than he thought possible. Something glinted in Katarina's hand.

 _Double shit._

 **Katarina:**

Five things happened in such rapid succession Katarina was not sure if they didn't happen all at once. First, where Jarvan had been, Garen appeared. Second, and before Katarina could readjust, Garen's hand closed on her throat. Third, she felt Garen's other hand close on the wrist with the knife. Fourth, her world lurched violently. Fifth and last, she felt her back hit stone hard, and Garen's weight pressed against her.

"Lady Du Couteau," Garen said in a flat, almost sad voice. "Please drop the knife."

Katarina blinked. For a moment she almost didn't recognize the man holding her against the wall. He had Garen's face, but...

 _Where is the boy who looked at me with doe eyes when he first saw me? Where is the boy who blushed whenever our eyes met? Where is the boy who always looks like to cry when I leave, and where is the boy whose face lights up whenever I arrive?_

The boy had been with Jarvan just a moment ago, her sudden appearance seeming to knock the wind out of his lungs. The man before her now had his face, but it had grown cold and hard as stone. His eyes which had once been like two gentle pools of water had frozen into ice.

 _Where is my Garen?_

Perhaps he was never there? Or perhaps she had killed him when she went for Jarvan?

Suddenly, absurdly, she was afraid.

"Garen?" The words came out of her mouth unbidden, cracked.

In that moment this new Garen faltered, and she saw, underneath, the boy she had met in Stormflower Hold. As quick as that the boy was gone, and it was the man who held her pinned by the neck and wrist.

Relief washed over her, and fear went away. To be replaced with rage.

 _I am house of House Du Couteau! This...peasant dares to put his hands on me!_

"UNHAND ME YOU DEMACIAN SCUM!" Katarina spat the words at his face.

"Lady Du Couteau," Garen said, but this time only flatly. "I will ask you again, please unhand the knife."

This time Katarina just spat.

The bastard didn't even flinch.

She was about to speak again, when he yanked her wrist back, pulled her around, and pressed her hard to the stone wall. She felt something press at the back of her head, keeping her from moving her neck, and only allowing the vision of the wall and the distant stone steps. He hitched up her wrist behind her back, forcing her to drop the knife and making it impossible for her to move the pinned hand. She tried to strike with her free hand, and knew it immediately to be a mistake, for the weight pressed against her head was removed, and he grabbed her flailing arm and hitched it behind her like the other. She was now pressed against the wall, with Garen leaning against her hips, making it nigh impossible to move. She could taste the stone, she smelled the smith, tanner, and Garen. Especially Garen.

 _Garen and soap, with a hint of earth and sweat._

She realized for the first time, at least consciously, that Garen _had_ his own scent. She could not compare it to anything, but it was pungent and bitter, but for all that not unpleasant.

"Lady Du Couteau," Garen said. "In the name of King Jarvan, the third of his name, I hereby arrest you for attempting to assault Prince-Regent Jarvan the fourth, is there anything you wish to say in your defense?" He spoke the words inches from her ear, and she could feel the heat of his breath. She suddenly became very aware of his body, the weight, the size of him. He had a good head and shoulders over her, and his body seemed to engulf her. A strange fire sparked in her chest, causing heat to spread throughout her body, and made her stomach (or rather something deeper) quiver.

She assumed the sensation was anger.

Katarina turned to face him.

His face was only inches from her own.

"Fuck. You." Katarina said.

Garen sighed. "Very well."

His face pulled out of her field of vision, and for some strange reason this angered her further.

Before she could protest she felt Garen's weight shift, and then a ripping sound. Something clamped on the wrists behind her back, and she realized she was being tied.

"You fucking pissant!" Katarina screamed. "Unhand me right now or—"

Garen interrupted. "Lady Du Couteau, I must now search you to see if you have anymore concealed weapons." He paused. "I...I apologize for any discomfort this might cause. I...I will use the back of my hand on your more sensitive areas."

 _He's going to search me._ The thought stoked the flames in her chest.

"You wouldn't dare." Katarina said through gritted teeth.

Garen dared.

First he ran his hands down her arms. Quick, light, it lasted only for an instant, but the act sent shivers down her spine. Then his hands went to her shoulders. When his fingers lightly caressed where shoulder met throat, a gasp escaped her lips. When his fingers found the other side, her stomach jumped, and the sensation was not entirely unpleasant.

Then his hand was running down her back, and when she felt his palm on her lower back, her chest arched on its own accord, and her nipples went so hard she thought they would tear her dress and scrape the wall.

"I will _kill_ you for—"

The back of Garen's hand ran down her ass.

She squeaked. The flesh of her cheeks turning into goosebumps, her legs simultaneously locking and quivering at the sensation.

Garen's weight abruptly left her, now she only felt his hand pressed to her back. She strained her neck to see, her eyes could not quite make him out, only the wooden wall behind them.

"Lord Prince Jarvan!" Garen's said in a cracked nervous voice. "I think we should find a female soldier to finish the search! I...I think that my touch is upsetting to Lady Du Couteau."

Straining her eye, she could barely make out the shape of Garen's head.

"She came at me with a knife, Garen." Jarvan said. "Fork her discomfort, continue the search."

"My Prince, I—"

Jarvan interrupted. "Or I could do it for you."

The thought of Jarvan touching her made her skin crawl and her stomach turn.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Katarina yelled.

Jarvan sounded entertained. "Well there you have it. Finish the search, that is an order."

Garen hesitated.

She felt, more than saw, Garen lean in.

"I will take you to a female soldier, if you promise me—" Garen muttered.

"Just get it over with." Katarina murmured.

After a pause, his hands went to her calf next, pushing his bodyweight into her so that he could move his arms into the right position. Then his hand pushed her just above her hips, and he felt his weight give.

Then her skirt was lifted, and the back of his hands were running up the inside of her legs. She could feel the coarseness of his knuckles on her thigh. Her legs felt someone had poked a hole in the soles of her feet, and all of her strength was leaking out.

She disgraced herself by whimpering.

At the sound Garen's hand recoiled.

"My lady I am so—"

Prince Jarvan said. "Remember why she's like this Garen."

There was a pause, and then Garen spoke, but now an edge had come into his voice.

"Right."

He finished the inside of her legs quickly, seeming to ignore the sounds she made.

Then she was being turned around. Looming over her was Garen, his hand clasped on her shoulders, his gaze averted. Behind him stood Jarvan, leaning against the wooden wall, an amused grin on his face, and the bread knife twirling in his hand.

 _The bastard is laughing at me._

She opened her mouth to yell at Jarvan, but then Garen's hands were once again searching her body. Her arms first, and then he used the back of his hands for her stomach. Again her stomach jumped and curled, and again it was not entirely unpleasant. Then he knelt, one hand pressed to her stomach as he ran his hands down the front of her dress.

 _I could kick him now, if I wanted, try to escape._

She thought better of it, however. She would still be tied

 _though she could easily take care of that_

and she needed to see this ordeal through.

Besides, Garen had to finish what he started.

After he finished with her legs he rose...

and stared at her chest.

"Do it," Katarina said, "I _dare_ you to do it. Do you have any idea who I am or what I can do to you and—"

"Lady Du Couteau." Garen murmured, and somehow his words made her shake. "Are...are you scared? Please know I will not, would not, harm you."

 _Scared? Why would I be scared? Of course you wouldn't harm me. You're Garen._

"I'm not scared of you, Garen." Katarina said. "Do it."

The back of his hand started at the nape of her neck, his fingertips practically stroking her face. A soft moan flitted from her throat. Then his hand was trailing down her front. When his hand pressed against her nipple her bones melted like wax. His hand was a fire trailing down the wick of her body, and she thought if he kept going down there would be nothing left of her but a puddle. If it were not for Garen's weight pressed against her, she would have fallen to the floor.

Through lidded eyes she saw Garen's face turn pink, a strange combination of the boy and the man dancing in his visage.

He turned back to Jarvan. "My Prince Lord Regent I really—"

"Finish it." Katarina heard herself say. Why she said it she couldn't say. Thought was coming very hard now. "Just fucking finish it."

Garen hesitated. His eyes darted over her body, his breath was almost as rapid as her own. He ground his teeth and brought his other hand to the other side. This time he locked his hands into a fist, so his fingers did not touch her face. For a moment, Katarina felt disappointment, and then his hand was trailing down her front. Her back involuntarily arched into his touch as the back of his knuckle pressed into her nipple through the fabric of her dress, and a small cry burst from her lips.

"Almost done milady." Garen said, sounding near out of breath.

Then the back of his hand ran down the center of her chest.

And found the hidden blade.

He reached for her necklace and pulled it over her head. It was the hidden blade with her family's sigil. When his eyes saw what it was, they went cold again.

"Prince Jarvan." Garen turned and stretched out her family knife to Jarvan. "I have finished my search, and this is all I have found, how would you have me proceed?"

 **Garen:**

Garen's body felt like it was to burst, and a maelstrom of thoughts whirled through Garen's mind. He needed to draw upon all his military discipline to keep himself composed.

 _Duty, focus on the duty._

Jarvan looked up from the knife Katarina had dropped earlier. He looked between it and the one Garen held.

"You can hold onto that one, Garen." Jarvan said. "Also, let Katarina go."

Garen blinked. He couldn't have heard the prince right. "My lord?"

"Garen look, this is a _bread knife._ "

Garen looked to the knife Jarvan held, and sure enough he spoke true.

Garen let his hand drop from Katarina and walked to Jarvan.

"Are you sure?" Garen asked.

Jarvan nodded. "And you tell me she had _that_ knife on her the entire time?"

Garen looked at the knife in his hands, thin black steel with a razor's edge. The bleeding lotus of house DuCouteau etched into it and painted red.

"Garen, why would she come at me with a bread knife if she wanted to harm me?" Jarvan asked.

Garen put Katarina's knife into his belt. "I don't know sir."

"I wanted to scare you, not hurt you."

Garen turned towards her voice, as he did so there was a sudden flash of light. Before Garen's brain could fully comprehend that the flash was a glint of steel he heard a soft thump in the wall beside him. He turned to see two knives jutting out the wall, practically up to their hilts, one on Garen's side, and one on Jarvan's.

The blades had passed inches from their faces.

"By the way" Katarina said. "You missed some, _Crownguard_." The cloth with which he bounded her wrist laid cut at her feet. She gave both of them a glare, hiked up her skirts, and ran.

 **Katarina**

 _How dare he, how_ _ **dare he.**_

Katarina ran up the steps towards her room. The clop of her shoes echoing off the halls. The strange fire continued to burn Katarina.

That it was anger she was sure. What else could it be? Of all the indignities she had ever endured, of all the jests, what that... _boy_ did was the worst. No boy had ever touched her like that! No boy would be fool enough to try! She was of House Du Couteau! She was heir to one of the first houses of Noxus! And he...he...

 _His hands over her naked flesh. The callouses of his knuckles as they moved against her inner thighs. The roughness of his fingers contrasted with the gentleness of his touch as he grazed the nape of her neck. The way his fingers stroked her cheek. His hand gliding against her breast, brushing—so light, so light—her nipple. I was melting, he was making me melt._

 _He handled me like a child!_ She thought.

Like a peasant woman.

 _Like a whore!_

LIKE A WHORE!

She slammed the door behind her and...

overextended herself.

She found herself flat on the floor, her face inches from the couple on the Ionian mural. Their threaded smiles seemed to mock her.

 _OH THAT'S FUCKING IT!_

She screamed as she pulled another hidden dagger, this one from the hem of her dress, and began to stab at the carpet. Strips of silk filled her vision like technicolor rain. If someone had walked in then, they might have thought Katarina had taken a knife to a rainbow. She swore in Valorian as well as a few choice curses in the ancient tongue of Du Couteau, some curses she thought she had forgotten.

" _Calm yourself girl!"_ Her father's voice rang in his head. _"_ _Do not lose your head!"_

She stopped and looked at the mural, the illuminating couple in ribbons. How long had it been since she lost control like _this_?

 _Theses Demacian's are making you lose it, and that's exactly what they want._

She dropped the knife, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

She thought...

 _His hands over her naked flesh. The callouses of his knuckles as they moved against her inner thighs. The roughness of his fingers contrasted with the gentleness of his touch as he grazed the nape of her neck. The way his fingers stroked her cheek. His hand gliding against her breast, brushing—so light, so light—her nipple. I was melting, he was making me melt._

The thought of Garen _touching_ her like that...it made her hot and cold and light headed and...

itchy.

That wasn't quite right, but it was the best word for it. She felt like there was an itch somewhere below her stomach, an itch that was not altogether unfamiliar, but never so _intense._

Looking back, Garen's... investigation must have only taken a few seconds.

 _Oh but it felt_ so _much longer._

She wanted, _needed,_ to pay him back in kind. But how, what exactly did she want to do with him? Kill him? She didn't like that. Beat him to a bloody pulp? Closer, but not quite.

 _I want to do to him what he did to me, I want to make him feel like...like_ this.

She needed to do _something_ to Garen Crownguard. Whatever it was, she needed to do it _hard._


	3. Chapter 3

_Oh hai Internets_

 _What?_

 _You thought it was done?_

 _You thought this was just another abandoned fanfic?_

 _Apologies, but it isn't._

 _No promises, but Imma try and finish it. Also I've reconsidered the weirdness, and it prolly won't go too off the rails. Also, I suspect the next update will not take..._ **WOW** _it's been a whole year? How did_ that _happen? Yeah no it won't take that long._

 _In any case, enjoy! Or don't! It's a free Internets!_

 _ **Garen**_

Garen stared at his eggs and girded himself to break his mental loop.

 _Focus Garen, they're just eggs!_

He took in a deep breath and reached for his fork. Step one done. He reached for his knife.

 _Knife._

 _Katarina's knife._

The suppleness of Katarina's legs against the back of his hand, how he could feel the hardness of her nipples even through her bodice and dress, how she shivered under his touch, the pathetic sounds flitting from her lips, the flush on her face.

How, for a moment, he wanted to slam her against the wall and ravish her right then and there like some base barbarian!

Garen's mind went numb.

Garen stared at his eggs and girded himself to break his mental loop.

 _Focus Garen, they're just-_

He nearly jumped when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He turned to see his sister's wide eyes.

"Garen?" She whispered.

Garen blinked at her and smiled, the act painful.

"Little sister!" Garen said. "How are you this morning?"

Garen had meant for the words would to put Luxanna at ease, but her face spoke failure.

Luxanna's hand's tightend on his shoulder. "Garen, are you ok?"

Garen looked around the room. They broke their fast in the king's private dining hall, but "study" may have been a more appropriate name. Bookcases lined the wall, filled with tomes from all of Valoran. A fireplace sat alongside a wall, the ashes of last night's fire on the verge of going cold. Around the table King and Prince Jarvan also starred at Garen with unreadable faces. Sitting beside the king was his personal guard, Xin Zhao. Xin Zhao was of an age with the king, grey streaks along the sides of his pulled back hair clashed with an otherwise ageless face. Xin Zhao had been the personal of Jarvan the II. After Jarvan the II rescued Xin Zhao from a Noxian fighting pit, Xin Zhao vowed to serve Jarvan until the Ionian born fighter's dying day. He took an arrow to protect the king during a campaign to drive Noxus out of Joan's Forge, and while he recovered the Butcher of Noxus, Sion charged Jarvan's camp and killed the king. Xin Zhao would have given his life to avenge king Jarvan, but Jarvan the III called upon his services, and Xin could not refuse.

"I'm perfectly fine." Garen said his voice unconvincing even to himself. He thrust his fork into the eggs and stuffed what ever kept into his mouth.

The room went quiet, and Garen looked down at his eggs.

In the silence the thought plaguing Garen's mind echoed yet again.

 _Katarina hates me._

Garen never knew complete despair before, and wished he didn't now.

The only solace he had was that Katarina had stopped joining their breakfasts a long time ago, he would not see-

"Ah, lady Du Couteau" Garen could hear the smile in the prince's words "so you deign to join us this morning?"

Garen looked up.

The entryway was empty.

The prince sniggered.

Garen started to scowl.

"Speak of devils, and they will appear."

Katarina materialized, wearing a black strangely frilly dress Garen would not have conceived Katarina putting on voluntarily. She always seemed discomforted in the elaborate gowns lady's wore at court and in balls, and this dress would've fit at either. Rather, it would have if it weren't so dark and intense.

 _Or maybe that's just her._

Garen risked a glance at Katarina's face.

They were locked onto him and burned.

(If Garen had not been so overcome with emotion at seeing Katarina he might have noticed that she also wore considerably more makeup than was typical of her. It looked, in fact, like it was the first time she put make-up on for purposes beyond convention. Both the Jarvans did not miss this detail, however.)

 _She's furious!_

 _Well why shouldn't she be, I groped her._

His eyes flew down to his plate and then unfortunately landed on the knife. Absurdly, he hid the knife.

"Consider myself disturbed, Lady Du Couteau." The prince said.

Katarina ignored him as she glided into the room and quietly took the seat directly across from Garen.

 _Oh gods, please kill me._

Inside Garen the desperate desire to look upon Katarina's face struggled against the fear of seeing the rage in her eyes.

 _What else can that rage mean except her hatred of me?_

The thought was a crack in his heart.

"Lady Du Couteau," it was the king who spoke now, "Do you find Demacian cuisine to your liking."

"It is passable."

Katarina had barely touched her food.

The breakfast went on with murmurs of conversation, Katarina keeping most of her answers terse and eyes never leaving Garen's face.

Garen could've wept.

"Oh Garen!" the king sat straight. "I wanted to let you know, Lord Barrowhall and Lady Rushclover are going to wed."

For a moment Garen forgot that the world was ending. "They are?"

The prince grimaced. "That is going to be a very angry wedding night."

The king ignored him and smiled warmly at Garen. "It seems the 'son of Demacia' has ended that feud once and for all."

"I've heard him," Katarina said suddenly, pointing to Garen, "Called the the 'son of Demacia,' before. Why? Seems a silly name."

Garen wanted to die.

Luxanna stiffened and might have spoken if the king hadn't.

"Well, Lady Du Couteau, the Rushclovers and the Barrowhalls are some of the oldest families in the Demacian borderlands. They are also bitter rivals. Around two years ago Lady Rushclover and Lord Hightower withdrew their guards from a few of their farming plots in response to a dispute over trade agreements. This left many farmers exposed to banditry and monster attacks. This was a delicate situation, as the lands the Rushclover's and Barrowhall's occupy is within the Demacian border, but not entirely under our law. We did not want to force either families to return the guards, but neither could we permit our citizens to be in danger. Before we could react, however, Garen took a horse and galloped straight into Lord Barrowhall's hall while he was holding court, and yelled him down in front of all his vassals. Garen what were your words?"

Garen blushed. "I told him he was Demacian, and to act like it."

The prince said. "Barrowhall recalls it more as "A lord of Demacia does not place his petty squabbles before the needs of his people."

The king nodded. "Yes, and then Garen rode straight into Rushclover's hall and did the exact same thing. Within a week both their guards were back in the villages, and a new trade agreements had been made. Lady Rushclover declared that "We had forgotten what it meant to be Demacian, it took a true son of Demacia to remind us."

Katarina considered Garen, then shrugged. "Seems foolish, to get so worked up over useless peasants."

Garen's back went rigid, all the emotion whirling inside of him coalesced into a single solid form: indignation.

"Useless, Lady Du Couteau?"

The room went quiet, and Katarina (strangely) snapped to Garen, as though she had been waiting for just this moment. Garen felt rage surge in him, but knew that it was not entirely about Katarina's words.

 _I must not attempt to take retribution on her for the way she makes me feel._

To insult Garen, that was fine. To insult the women and men who spend their lives toiling in earth and sun, braving elements, monsters, and bandits alike so the rest of the kingdom can eat. That would not stand.

"Lady Du Couteau, tell me, in Noxus do you magic food onto your plates? Do nobles stitch their own clothes in Noxus? Do they mine their own metal? Do they cut down trees for their own lumber? Because we don't. Because here, in Demacia, our food is grown and harvested by those you call 'useless peasants.' In fact, most of what you see here comes from said 'useless pesants. My job, the job of the army, the job of the king, is only to _protect_ those peasants. If we were taken away, I'm sure the peasants in time would rise to the occasion and find ways to protect themselves. If the peasants were taken away, we-" Garen gestured around the room. "would be finished. So I ask you again, Lady Du Couteau...who are the useless ones?"

Katarina stared at him wide-eyed, anger and...something else flashing in her eyes.

Xin-Zhao pounded the table. "Well said Garen!"

Garen shook himself, he had forgotten the others were there. Luxanna was looking at him with wonder in her eyes, the king wore a soft smile, and Jarvan was grinning ear to ear.

Garen blushed and looked at his eggs.

"I think," Katarina said after a moment, "I am full. My lord," Katarina turned towards the king. "Do I have your leave?"

The king regard Katarina for a moment. "You have it."

Katarina stood, gave Garen a contemptuous look, and then walked away. The image of her leaving after his...inspection flashed through his mind as she left.

Garen looked at his eggs, and gave them up for lost.

 **Katarina**

Noxus was born in a desert. To non-Noxians this frivolus, but any Noxian of caliber knew it to be a constitute fact of Noxus. For Noxus place of birth was where it learned its greatest lesson, the lesson that allowed a group of wandering desert nomads to become the greatest empire on Valoran.

Strength is everything.

In a desert, the world is your enemy. The sun, the earth, the sky, all of it wages unceasing war against you. The only way, _the only way,_ to survive is to fight back. You adapt, you gather resources, you regulate and measure each step so as not to allow your enemy the slightest opening lest the desert bury you and turn you into itself. For that was the ultimate fate of those who were defeated by the desert, their flesh and bones ultimately turning into dust to be swallowed up in the sands.

Yes, the desert was the greatest enemy, but not the only one. Next were other people, other animals, other living things. It didn't matter if you had gathered all the water and food a desert had to offer if someone could take it away from you. So long as you were at the mercy of external powers, your life was forfeit.

Strength is life.

Weakness is death.

That which made you weak needed to be cut out. That which made you strong needed to be loved and cherished. Like the desert, you were to destroy your enemy, and make them into yourself. Those who did not see this, those who refused to see it, lived only on the whims of those who did. It was that simple.

Or at least, Katarina had always thought it was. But now, as she stared down at the yard as the Demacians practiced sword and shields, watching a particular Demacian, she was unsure.

She thought she had Garen measured out. She had thought he was a big, strong, and admittedly handsome man, but only that, if not a little less. She had thought Garen was externally strong but internally weak. A paper lion, if you will. With all his blushes, his overt emotionalism, his seeming indifference to showing affection, how could he not be? But, when the critical moment came, when his duty depended on immediate action, which is to say _when it truly mattered,_ he rose to the occasion. But when it was done, he turned back into the boy whose eyes risked falling out of his head whenever Katarina was around. It was like watching a mewling kitten turn into a roaring lion and back again in a blink.

Katarina gripped the railings as the memory of the morning came to her.

 _"Tell me, Lady Du Couteau, who are the useless ones?"_

It had to be an act, all that school boy demurity, because surely the strength Garen showed could not coexist alongside such weakness. Yet the thought that Garen's furtive glances, the longing in his eyes, the thought that this was all an act made Katarina strangely sad. It could not be that she desired Garen, certainly not! It was impossible! It wasn't worth the thought. No, it had to be something else.

She remembered the moment with her father during their training.

 _"No man can rid himself of all his weakness."_

Yes...that might be it. There were many weakness Katarina knew she could not give up, perhaps did not _want_ to give up. Her love of her sister, her brother, and her father, for one.

 _Perhaps, if I watch Garen, I might learn to hide my weakness in plain sight. If I watch Garen I might see his secret, I might...oh, Oh!_

There was a lull in the training, the men and women dispersing and walking to washbins and water basins. Garen, in particular, had worked up sweat. So he took his shirt off, and a new theory presented itself to Katarina.

All the softness in Garen's heart was compensation for none being on his body.

 _There are statues of Noxian lords in the Halls of Victory less sculpted than_ that.

Between the sweat and the mid-afternoon sun each contour was traced in shadow enough to pronounce each muscle, but not enough to stop his skin from glistening.

 _Gods, and it was_ that _thrust against me yesterday._

The memory came so vividly she could almost feel him against him now. Her skin prickled, her nipples hardened, and she began to itch.

She realized Jarvan had appeared next to Garen, a smile on his face as he looked in her direction. He leaned over Garen, who was in the middle of sloshing water onto his face, and then Garen was looking at Katarina.

The sadness, the pleading desire, in his eyes as he looked at her almost broke her heart. Even from this distance the blueness of his eyes glittered like the sun on water. This only made her itch worse.

 _I want him_

One of the most important lessons her father had taught her: accept the direction the evidence on the battlefield lead, even if the destination is utterly undesirable.

All the evidence in Katarina's body, mind, and heart pointed to Katarina falling for Garen Crownguard.

 _He has no right!_

How could he! The Demacian dog, the self-righteous bastard. How could he dupe her, the daughter of Marcus Du Couteau, the heir of house Du Couteau, into falling for a peasant like himself!

In a fit that might have been rage or despair, Katarina leaped over the wall. There were gasps below, but she didn't care. Using one of the concealed knives in her dress she scrapped along the wall and rolled when she hit the earth. Upon standing she immediately strode towards Garen. Dimly she noted shocked faces around him, but she didn't care, only Garen mattered to her now.

Each step made Garen grow larger and more impressive. When the smell of him hit her she almost waivered, but forced herself on. She was only arms length away now. Garen looked at her with wide-eyed trepidation, like a child approached by a unknown dog. Yet still, _still_ , the longing was evident in his eyes.

She wanted to touch him.

 _Bastard!_

She slapped him.

She didn't know what else to do.

The people around them surged towards her, but stopped when Jarvan held out his arm.

Garen's hand was at his cheek, and he looked on the verge of tears.

 _Bastard bastard bastard bastard!_

"Apologize!" She almost screamed.

Garen blinked.

"Apologize for..."

 _For making me want you_

"For what you did to me yesterday! Apologize for the way you spoke to me this morning!"

Garen blinked again, and then his hand dropped, his back stiffened, and his eyes turned to ice.

Katarina felt weak in the knees.

"Lady Du Couteau," Garen said evenly "you attacked my prince, and then attacked my people. If you expect me to apologize for defending either I will have to disappoint you. For I will _never_ apologize."

Katarina glared at him.

This time Garen did not blink.

She did it without thinking, in a moment the space between them was gone, as she pressed her body against his. She made her posture hard so the action appeared a threat. But the moment of bliss (the heat of fire the grip of electricity the sweet intoxication of wine) that came almost made her whimper and she feared it would break the conceit.

Garen recoiled, but not enough to extradite himself from her. His eyes were no longer cold but frantic. Then she saw something flash in those eyes that almost made her head swirl.

Hunger.

But only for a moment, then Garen looked away.

"Duel me." Katarina said slowly, "Tomorrow. Here. I need to pay you back for your behavior yesterday."

"He'll do it!" They both turned to Jarvan's voice. "For the honor of Demacia. Of course it will be with blunted weapons."

Garen's face suggested Jarvan had just stabbed him in the back.

Katarina smiled at Garen. "Fine. We'll play by the clown's rule." She tilted her head towards Jarvan. "I'll see you tomorrow, Clownguard."

She was about to, reluctantly, pull herself away when a girl's voice burst from nowhere.

"Leave my brother alone!"

Luxanna marched towards Garen and Katarina.

The moment her brother saw her he literally leapt back.

She had put two and two together at breakfast, Garen so upset and trying to hide it. Then, the moment Katarina comes in, he loses composure in a way she'd never seen before.

 _What is she doing to my brother?_

Did the fake attack on the prince have anything to do with it?

After breakfast she made it a point to keep an eye on Katarina whenever she could spare it. When she saw Katarina leap off the wall she all but ran here.

"Luxanna!" Garen sounded strangely distressed. "It isn't...I...we aren't..."

 _What is she doing to my brother?_

She put herself between them and tried to stare down Katarina.

Katarina looked neither concerned or perturbed, only surprised.

"I don't know what you're doing." Luxanna said, screwing up her anger and courage. "But you leave my brother alone."

Katarina tilted her head. "Brother?"

She looked behind Luxanna to Garen.

"Yes!" Luxanna said. "My brother!"

Katarina was a good head and a half taller than Luxanna, so she had to lean forward so their faces were on level.

Garen was two feet behind Luxanna, but even from that distance she could feel his body tense and coil, and new he was ready to leap at any moment. Which was good, as now she was staring Katarina in the face, she was suddenly unsure of her tactics.

Luxanna stood straight, however, determined not to have this woman intimidate her.

Katarina examined Luxanna, and smiled. It was a soft smile that completely changed Katarina's face, filling it with a warmth Luxanna could not have guessed existed.

"You are very pretty." Katarina said. "Do you know that?"

On the trip here Luxanna had considered various contingencies to Katarina's reaction. None came close to addressing this. Luxanna's face went hot and she glanced at Garen, perhaps hoping for support.

Garen looked more confused than she was.

She felt a hand gingerly cares her hair. "Such lovely hair too...how old are you, little one?"

Luxanna stammered. "I'm...I'm nine."

Katarina's face suddenly grew sad. "I have a sister who is about your age. She is very pretty too."

"I...I know what you're doing." Luxanna tried to draw herself up. "You're trying to trick me. Well it won't work, I won't let you-"

"What's your name?"

"Lux...Luxanna."

"Your name is as pretty as you are, Luxanna."

"Thank you." Luxanna said it reflexively, unable to stop herself.

"Why do you hate your brother Luxanna?"

"I...what?"

"Why do you hate your brother?"

"I don't hate my brother!" Luxanna squeaked.

"Oh, than do you think you're brother is too weak to fight me on his own?"

"What? No! No, my brother is the best in Demacia. He's...he's Demacia's True Son!"

Garen groaned softly.

"Did he ask for your assistance then?" Katarina asked.

"No..."

"So you decided to intervene on a fight which you were not asked to join, but one you think your brother could win on his own?"

Luxanna said nothing.

"I ask you again, Luxanna, why do you hate your brother?"

"I don't—"

"Because why else would you deny him the right to improve himself?"

"What?"

"Every challenge we face and overcome makes us stronger, Luxanna. You just said you believe your brother is perfectly capable of overcoming me. If that is true, than you must not want him to grow."

Luxanna's mind worked furiously. What Katarina said made a strange sort of sense...but it was different from anything she'd ever heard. "You're wrong. Standing up for others doesn't weaken them."

Katarina shrugged. "No, not when they are too weak to defend themselves. But let me ask you this, has Garen ever done something for you that you felt you could do yourself?"

Images of Garen reaching over her to pick up plates she meant to take herself, Garen lifting her up into the pony's saddle when he saw her try to get in it, and other things danced through her mind.

She looked askance at Garen. "Yes, especially when I was younger."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Most of the time I didn't mind."

"Most of the time?"

Luxanna looked down. "Sometimes it made me angry." A thought came into her head suddenly then, connecting Katarina's words with an anger Luxanna had known but could not verbalize. "He also doesn't like it when I try to learn swords and combat! He's afraid I might get hurt!"

Garen finally spoke. "Luxanna, I-"

Katarina cut him off and addressed Luxanna. "Don't you think he should let _you_ decide whether or not to risk injury?"

"Yes!"

Garen took the word like a slap to the face. Luxanna saw this and blushed.

"So," Katarina said. "Don't you think you should let Garen decide whether he wants you to help him?"

Luxanna nodded.

Katarina smiled, it was not supercilious, but the smile of an older sister to a younger. "Well then, I think you need to let Garen be. But between you and me." She leaned into Luxanna's ears and whispered loud enough for Garen to hear. "If you ever want to learn combat, come find me."

Luxanna blushed, but nodded.

Katarina pinched Luxanna's nose.

Luxanna giggled, realized she had done so, and put her hands over her mouth.

Katarina leaned back, and her face changed back into the hard edges and fiery eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Clownguard."

Katarina turned and strode away.

Garen did not think of marriage often. As a member of the Crownguard he thought of marriage as something decades away, if it were to happen at all. But those times he had pondered it he came up with two two tests for his potential wife. First, could they handle Luxanna? Second, did Luxanna like them? Katarina had passed the first with flying colors, and from the way Luxanna giggled she was on the verge of the second.

 _She's perfect._ Garen thought as Katarina walked away. _She's perfect, and she hates me..._

He never understood how anyone could say the gods were cruel until this moment.

Jarvan burst into laughter and Garen felt his hand slap Garen's back.

"Congratulations, Clownguard! Ha! I'm so happy for you!"

"I don't understand, Jarvan."

"Well isn't it obvious?"

When Garen did not respond Jarvan rolled his eyes.

"She _wants_ you."

Garen went cold. "That is a poor jest to make, Jarvan."

This time Jarvan responded with a confused look.

"Wants me!" Garen laughed. "Did you not just see what happened here? Did you not see how I make her feel? A woman would never want a man who could infuriate her so!"

Garen did not know what look he expected on Jarvan's face, but it was not the one he gave. It was a mixture of shock and pity, the kind a teacher gives when a student answers 'twenty-two' to 'what is two plus two.'

"Garen, you don't know anything about women at all, do you?"

Jarvan sounded absolutely sincere. He turned to the small crowd of soldiers that had gathered around them. They all looked away, some even left. He turned to his sister, who looked strangely thoughtful.

Jarvan sighed. "Alright, how about this. Raise your hand if you think Katarina wants Garen."

There were about thirty soldiers still around at that point, about evenly split between men and women. Every one of them raised their hands.

After a moment, even Luxanna raised her hand.

"Lux!" Garen gasped.

"I'm sorry Garen but it does explain a lot! It's like that time I picked on Dollan when I was six. I did it because I liked him."

"You liked Dollan?"

"That's not the point Garen! The point is I picked on him because I didn't know what else to do. It makes sense if Katarina is doing the same to you."

"You can't make that comparison, Katarina and I are adults."

"I don't know," Jarvan rubbed his chin, "I know you're at least half wrong in that."

"Also!" Luxanna stepped forward. "Mom and Dad often fight just before going to the bed-"

Garen clamped his hand over her mouth. Half the time Luxanna acted three years beneath her age, the other half she acted ten years ahead. The girl was too perceptive by half.

Garen looked around for aid, someone to help contradict prince Jarvan. All eyes turned away, belying their agreement with Jarvan.

 _Katarina wants you._

It was as though his mind only now processed the full implication Jarvan's words.

 _If there is a chance, a miniscule chance, a one in ten thousand chance that he's right..._

Jarvan watched as Garen's eyes glossed over and his hands fell limp to his sides. He began to mutter to himself, saying "No, it can't be. But maybe..." Garen turned and walked away, forgetting his shirt, his blunted sword, and apparently everything else.

Jarvan shook his head. "What are we going to do with him?"

Lux raised an eyebrow. "We? He's my brother."

"Yes, but I'm far more likely to be stuck with him."

"How so?"

"When you grow up you can go wherever you please. If I become king, I'll be stuck with him until the day I die."


	4. Chapter 4

_I told you it would be less than a year._

 _I'm going to try and Blitz this story, originally I had intend it to be only 60k words, but it might go over. I do not see it going over 80k, however._

"You're late." Jennia said.

Katarina had just landed in the outcropping and was still picking pineneedles out of her hair.

"Maybe," Katarina said. "If you picked a spot less than three miles away from the wall I'd be here sooner."

Steel flashed and Jennia's scimitar was out and Katarina barely withdrew her blades to stop it. The formerly quiet night rang with the sound of metal on metal as the two of them withdrew and came together.

"Enough." Jennia stood and sheathed her scimitar.

Katarina leapt on her and put her knives to Jennia's throat, but in a flourish Jennia had withdrawn her own hidden blade and returned the favor.

Jennia's face was wrapped in dark cloth, but even in the dim firelight Katarina could see the smile in her eyes.

"Your father has taught you well, what gave me away?" Jennia asked.

Katarina said. "You didn't say 'metal away.'"

Jennia nodded. "Metal away then."

They withdrew their knives.

Jennia walked towards the fire, the only viable source of light under the canopy of tree branches.

"What have you learned of Demacia today?" Jennia asked as she squatted by the fire.

"That its care for its lesser members may not be the weakness some think it is." Katarina said.

Jennia, who had begun to probe the fire, stopped. "Oh? Was this a lesson you learned at breakfast?"

Katarina went rigid. "Breakfast made me reconsider my position on the matter."

Jennia turned and looked at Katarina. "Is that all the revelations of the day?"

Katarina gritted her teeth. "No, I have also found..." She hated the childish fear of speaking it out loud. "I have feelings for Garen Crownguard."

"So you finally admit it?" Jennia asked.

Katarina did not meet her eyes.

Jennia laughed.

"Do not laugh at me!" Katarina said.

"I'm not laughing at you, Lady Du Couteau." Jennia said.

"Yes you are, and I told you not to call me that here." Katarina said.

"No, I was laughing at how I sometimes forget you are a fourteen year old." Jennia said. "You forget it too, it seems. You are too hard on yourself."

"There is no such thing." Katarina said. "However hard you are on yourself, the world will be harder still."

Jennia considered Katarina. "You are also the daughter of Marcus Du Couteau. I suppose this means you do not think you have the luxury of being anything more than a woman grown?"

Katarina said nothing.

"Why are you dueling the Crownguard?" Jennia asked.

"Once I best him, my feelings are sure to fade." Katarina said.

"Why is that?" Jennia asked.

"Because I could never desire that which is weaker than myself." Katarina said.

"Perhaps." Jennia started to pace around the fire. "And what if Crownguard bests you?"

"That will not happen." Katarina said it far too quickly.

"I did not realize you were a god, Katarina. How else could you say what _will_ happen?"

"I was wrong to say that." Katarina said.

If Garen were to best her...

 _Garen's hands on her body and his breath at her neck and the feel of his muscles pressed against_

"It will not happen!" Katarina said.

Jennia was silent for a moment. "Katarina, what if you _want_ him to best you?"

For a moment Katarina felt numb, then anger like molten lead pulsed in her veins.

"How dare you! I am Katarina Du Couteau, daughter and heir of Marcus Du Couteau, the greatest general Noxus has ever known! I killed my first man at the age of ten, and cut down an entire band of mercenaries at the age of twelve! I would never, _never,_ want a Demacian dog to best me! Never!"

Jennia did not respond, the only sounds between them were the faint crackle of fire, Katarina's heavy breathing, and the soft hooting of a distant owl.

In that quiet Katarina saw the truth in Jennia's words.

The effort of acknowledging it required physical pain on Katarina's part, but her father's lessons did not leave her. She lost control, and one only loses control when one is vulnerable. Katarina had to drag herself kicking and screaming to the conclusion, but this only further belied its truth.

Part of Katarina wanted Garen to win.

Katarina drew herself up and from the look in Jennia's eyes Katarina did not need to admit her error.

"How would you proceed?" Katarina asked.

Jennia crossed her arms. "If I were fourteen, and this were my first love? Likely worse than you are."

 _No, it is not love. It cannot be._

Katarina would not accept that. She knew better than to argue the point, however.

Jennia walked around the fire and towards Katarina. "The duel is not a bad way to proceed. However, a blade is best when it is hidden, if you fight him then all of Demacia will know of your ability."

"Let them know." Katarina said. She was long since tired of hiding her skill.

"So you intend to hold nothing back?" Jennia asked.

Katarina hesitated only for a moment. "No."

Jennia nodded. "That is the only answer worthy of a daughter of Noxus."

"The only answer worthy of the daughter of Du Couteau." Katarina said.

Jennia turned back to the fire. "Go then, there will be no lesson tonight."

Katarina had not expected this. "Why not?"

Jennia smiled. "One does not train with swords the night before going into battle."

Katarina hesitated, her nightly sparring lessons with Jennia had become one of her favorite doings since coming to Demacia. Not only was she allowed to get out of those stuffy dresses and dusky books, but Jennia was a more enjoyable sparring partner than her father or brother. She was not better, not by a long shot, but this may have been why Katarina preferred it. Jennia held less back.

"Thank you, Jennia." Katarina smiled. "I still don't even know your true name."

"The name my parents gave me is Jehusannah." Jennia said. Jehusannah had never given her true name before, and seemed as surprised as Katarina that she had done so.

"Why do you tell me now?" Katarina asked.

"It is not prudent for me to answer." Jehusannah said.

"It would be if I commanded it."

"Oh?" Jehusannah sounded amused. "And would you command it?"

Katarina shook her head. "No, I wouldn't. Just wanted to remind you I could."

Katarina turned to leave.

"I always wanted a sister." Jehusannah said.

Katarina looked at her, and Jehusannah looked away, abashed. "Our talk just now...I had always wanted to have that sort of talk with a sister. My siblings are all men."

Jehusannah suddenly bowed low. "Pardons, Lady Du Couteau, I should not have said that."

Katarina laughed. "Do not apologize, it is the Demacian air. It makes us silly."

"Doesn't it?" Jehusannah said. "These Demacian's are so strange. So prone to emotion and whimsy. Why it has taken us so long to conquer them I do not understand." Jehusannah sighed. "What I wouldn't give to be back in Noxus."

"So you are from Noxus?" Katarina said. "I would've guessed you were from Shurima."

"I am from Alhi'wal. So I am both."

With the fall of the Shuriman empire the nation splintered and infighitng eventually reduced the populace to a few small city-states and a handful of wandering nomads. Alhi'wal was one of surviing cities, and was of the most prosperous trading ports as it shared a border with Noxus, Piltover, and a port. It was one of the few Shuriman cities Noxus cared to conquer.

Jehusannah sighed. "You should go rest, Lady Du Couteau."

Katarina nodded. "I will take my leave, but when we next meet, you must tell me more about your place of birth. I've always wanted to know how borderlanders lived."

"Is that an order?" Jehusannah asked.

Katarina considered. "We will see."

It had been a struggle, but Katarina had finally forced herself to sleep that night, fighting off the strategies (he's big but if I can get him off his feet his size won't matter) and defensive stratagems (I'm faster than he is but I don't think I can endure one well placed attack) that flew through her mind. In her dreams she had him on straddled on the ground, thrusting him again and again and again (or was he thrusting her?), his moans music to her ears. When she woke she decided to take it as a positive sign and investigate it no further.

She skipped her lessons, put on her leather armor in place of her finery, and hid in the shadows of the training yard and waited. When the time she issued the challenge came so did he, along with the Prince and a small entourage of fellow soldiers.

"Afraid, Clownguard?" She walked out of the shadows and the reaction of the party told her they had not detected her. "Feared to face me alone, so you brought back up?"

Garen wore a padded sparing jerkin and gripped a blunted blade. His eyes were full of that trepidatious sadness that made Katarina furious and itchy.

It was, of course, the prince who answered. "These soldiers wanted to see the fight, and I agreed to it." Jarvan shrugged. "Besides, we Demacians know all too well of Noxian treachery."

Katarina addressed Garen as though he had spoken. "Oh, you don't think you can handle me? A big man like yourself afraid of a tiny little maiden?"

Garen did speak this time. "Demacians value what one can do and is willing to try, and do not believe gender, orientation, or race ought circumscribe either. You have proven yourself a dangerous fighter besides. I'd be foolish to underestimate you because of your sex."

 _Bastard._

"Also," Jarvan now "If you're a maiden I'm a Yordle."

Katarina lazily threw a blunted dagger towards the prince's face.

And the flat of Garen's sword was there to deflect it.

Leaving Garen exposed.

"Lady Katarina, please-"

Katarina was on him in two strides and a leap.

Garen's eyes went wide with shock.

 _Too easy._ Katarina thought. She was almost disappointed.

But her blunted blades missed his chest by inches and the greatsword was coming in her direction. She fought the urge to take another stab at him as she did not think it would be enough to incapacitate him but his attack would likely be enough to seriously wound her so she leapt back and circled.

Garen's stance changed, his body went hard, his eyes a cold flame, and Katarina recognized the look of a man lost in battle. When she thought she saw an opening she dove but Garen pivoted with dexterity contradicting his size and her opening was lost so she leapt away. When it became clear that Garen was too adept to allow for a natural opening Katarina tried to make one. She feinted and twirled but Garen was always there and each time she thought she had an opening Garen's sword would appear as if from nowhere to show her her error.

Indeed, the fact was Garen was a seasoned soldier, he had been in more combat over the last two years than Katarina had been in her entire life. All the training in the world would not help Katarina bridge that gap, though she was close, and Garen saw it.

Garen began to advance and Katarina saw her peril. She had wasted so much energy in her attack while Garen had conserved his. Moreover Katarina realized she had never been in a sustained fight with a swords man, her father had trained her in ambush and retreat, saying that the mark of a true assassin was to attack quickly and powerfully enough so that only one was needed. If it had not been for her training with Jehusannah she would not have known how to duck between his great swings and match his footwork. She saw, however, she could not keep it up long and that it needed to be ended quickly if she were to claim victory. She leapt over him, throwing daggers throughout the arc. She landed, threw another dagger, and leapt to the side. In his haste to deflect the dagger he had left his flank open.

 _Now!_

She dove, throwing her entire weight behind this desperate lunge.

"It's over!" She screamed.

Garen's hand snapped out like a viper, giving Katarina just enough time to recognize the trap before being she was lifted into the air, then slammed into the ground. For a moment she couldn't breath, and this wasn't helped when Garen's boot landed on her chest. Garen then brought the tip of his sword to Katarina's nose and waited until breath returned to her lungs.

"Yield." Garen said.

There was a cheer, and Katarina turned to see that the crowd of sodliers had nearly doubled in size during their fight.

 _How long have we been at it?_

It may have been seconds or hours, one moment, one act rather than a flow of time.

Katarina sneered, and let her blades drop.

Garen looked at her stone faced.

"Are you going to let me up?" Katarina asked.

"Not until you yield." Garen said

"I'm unarmed." Katarina said

Garen gave the barest hint of a smile, a crack in the stone. "We both know that isn't true."

Katarina could not help it, she smiled as well. "Fine, I yield."

Garen withdrew his boot and offered her his hand.

More cheers from the gallery.

Katarina rolled her eyes and allowed him to take her hand.

Then she was up and inches from his face. Katarina realized she was far too unperturbed by her loss, but found she couldn't quite bring her affront to bear as she looked into his eyes.

"Whoever trained you did you a disservice." Garen said.

Katarina insides soured, and found her previous inability quickly dissipating.

"Be very careful what you say next, Crownguard." Katarina said.

"Do not mistake me, your training in ambush combat is superb, but a slight adjustment would've made a world of difference. For example, you have not been trained to sustain combat, correct?"

Katarina winced.

Garen nodded at the confirmation. "If you had pressed the first attack instead of retreating the fight might have gone differently."

"You're stronger than me." Katarina said, angry at the truth of his words. "I couldn't afford to fight you directly for long."

"Perhaps..."

Garen lazily swung his sword at Katarina, the movement so slow Katarina barely had to exert to dodge it.

"I thought the fight was over?" Katarina said.

Garen swung his sword again, a little faster this time. Katarina continued to dodge. The strokes became more animated, Katarina instinctively reached for combat knives that were not there and was about to pull out hidden blades when Garen's sword stopped.

"You're right, I am stronger than you, but doesn't matter if I can't hit you." Garen said.

"It'd be a dangerous gambit, letting myself this close to you for so long." Katarina said.

"Yes, but sometimes the dangerous gambits are the only ones worth taking." Garen said.

Katarina raised her eyebrow. "Garen, you almost sound like a Noxian."

Garen laughed. "My lady, we Demacian's know the gambles of battle as well as-"

Garen's eyes fell towards Katarina's chest, and what he saw must have taken away his ability to speak.

Katarina looked down and realized that in the fight her bodice had come loose.

 _Damnable things!_

She looked up to see Garen's face had gone a beat red that had nothing to do with the fight. He snapped his head away.

Katarina had been ambivalent about her breasts since they popped onto her chest. They were clumsy, awkward, and always in the way. They were pretty, sure, but useless. Now, however, was one of those rare moments where she was happy to have them.

Katarina straightened, sticking out her chest. "Is something wrong, Clownguard?"

"My lady..." Garen stammered.

 _Fuck I like it when he calls me his lady.  
_ Garen went on. "Your...your attire."

Katarina leaned forward. "Is something wrong with my attire?"

Garen's eyes flickered down before nearly rolling into the back of his head. "Lady Du Couteau please..."

 _Fuck I like it when he pleads with me._

There was a small cough, but it was enough to shatter the moment like glass.

Jarvan had departed the (now rather sizeable) crowd and stood only a few feet away.

"In the name of sportmanship I feel I need to interject. Lady Du Couteau, that" he nodded to her chest. "Is a low blow."

Garen withdrew from her.

Rage surged in Katarina. "Sit and spin, your highness."

Jarvan laughed.

Katarina turned her attention to Garen. "You. We're doing this again, same time next week. Next time though, you won't be so lucky."

"He'll-" Jarvan started.

"So be it." Garen said. "You are an excellent sparing partner, Lady Du Couteau, I would be honored to fight you again."

Then it was Katarina's turn to blush.

They met next week. And the week after. And the week after that. These duel quickly became the highlight of their weeks, so much so that they would spend at least part of each day before and after thinking over their strategies. Garen, for his part, had never had an opponent so equally matched. There was Jarvan, sure, but Garen never felt right going all out with him. He had held similar reservations with Katarina, but when they were fighting the reservations evaporated. He could lose himself with her in a way he had never thought possible, and never knew he wanted.

Katarina felt her abilities grow with each fight, and her Noxian training screamed for her to continue. There were other parts of her screaming for Garen as well, parts of her that went wild when he saw the passion in his eyes and the strain in his body. But what was that? Foolishness, childish foolishness. She could satisfy the longings forced on her by nature and improve herself at the same time. She also avenged herself on Garen by training his little sister, who had sought her out after the first match.

There was one glaring issue, however. The crowd that had watched their first duel returned, and with each fight they seemed to double in size. In response Garen and Katarina had tried to find a more seculded area, but the sounds of their battle would carry and the crowd would find them in the end. It got so bad that it became something of a spectacle. People began to talk about upcoming matches as they would of football or hand ball matches between soldier divisions.

Worst of all were the rumors. The passionate chemistry between Garen and Katarina was noted by all. At first the court women were jealous, Garen being considered the most eligible bachelor in all of Demacia second only to Prince Jarvan himself. But when some of these women came to the matches and saw the two in action, they were quickly swallowed up in the romance of star-crossed lovers.

"It's tragic isn't it?" Lady Bartric whispered to Lady Venelope as they watched one fight. "They are both so young and lovely, despite her being a Noxian."

"Despite being a Noxian." said Lady Venelope

"But they can't be together." said Lady Bartric.

"The Son of Demacia and a daughter of Noxus, it could never happen." Agreed Lady Venelope.

"No never...unless..." Lady Bartric lead.

"Unless there were midnight rendevous!"

"Nights of passion and longing."

"Oh but they could never tell-"

"Never."

"They both love their lands, but they love eachother."

"It's like a torrid affair!"

"Oh how cruel of the gods and fate!"

"Two people who are perfect for eachother-"

"Who belong together!" Lady Venelope said.

"They do don't they! Only a woman as strong as Katarina could possibly hope to bring him to heel." Lady Bartric said.

"And only a man as strong as Garen could possibly contain Katarina's fiery nature." said Lady Venelope

"Say what you want about Noxus, but I think a few more Demacian women could use the fire in Katarina." said Lady Bartric.

"A Noxian fire?"

"A fire that melts the stone!"

"What?"

"Well I think of Garen as stone, and Katarina as the fire." Lady Bartric said.

Both women pause.

"The fire that melts the stone?" Lady Venelope asked.

"Well, now that I hear it does sound a little stupid." Lady Bartric said.

"Yes, quite silly." Lady Venelope agreed.

"But I like the story." Lady Bartric said.

"And the title isn't that stupid." Lady Venelope said.

And they giggled.

Variations of this conversation were repeated throughout the Rock of Kings, and then naturally beyond into the rest of Demacia.

None of this escaped the notice of the King.

And after a few months of it had passed the King summoned Garen and the prince into his private study.

Garen felt a chill as he stepped through the door, as though he were going to his own court marshal rather than a meeting with the King.

 _I shouldn't speak too soon, it might be my court marshal._

He hadn't been careful enough. He shouldn't have indulged himself in his fights with Katarina, he just...just couldn't help himself.

The feeling of strain between them.

The flush in her face.

The smell of their mingled sweat.

It was more intoxicating than wine.

 _And now I am going to pay for it._

The King sat behind an impressive rockwood desk, carved with a relief of Demacian history, which did not help Garen's sense of being brought before a court. The king was not wearing his traditional kingly garb, but wore a simple doublet with the sigil of house Dragonlance and the arms of Lightshield on his breast. Garen, for his part, wore a similar doublet, with the Crownguard crest and Emblem of the Dauntless over his heart. He did not hold much hope for the king appreciating the imitation, however.

The prince patted Garen reassuringly on the back before saying to the King. "Father, we have arrived."

The king nodded to his son but his eyes were on Garen.

"I see that."

A moment of silence passed.

"Your bouts with Lady Du Couteau are quickly becoming the talk of the city, Garen." the King said.

Garen's insides turned to ice. "Is that displeasing to you, my liege?"

The king ignored the question. "Of course, your bouts pale to the word of your affair with the Lady Du Couteau."

Garen seemed to stop having insides. "My liege..."

"Is it true?"

And there it was. "Katarina and I...I mean Lady Du Couteau and I have done nothing, are, nothing like that."

The king leaned forward. "Are you romantically inclined towards Katarina, Garen?"

Garen could not speak.

The King nodded. "'The Son of Demacia and a Daughter of Noxus...'" It sounded like a quote.

Garen could not bring himself to deny it and his eyes fell to the ground. "Such talk must displease the King greatly."

"Why would that be?" the King asked.

Garen looked up. He couldn't have heard that right.

"My liege...it would be untowards."

"I repeat my question. Why would that be?" the King replied.

"You said it yourself, a son of Demacia and a Daughter of Noxus, it could never be!"

The King smiled. "Garen, please do not make me repeat my question a third time."

"My lord, she is from Noxus, the enemy of Demacia."

The King raised his eyebrows. "Is Noxus our enemy? That is news to me. Last I was informed we had made an armistice with the nation. There are even rumors of a lasting peace. If anything I would say a romance between a Son of Demacia and a Daughter of Noxus at this moment is providential."

Garen's world spun.

"My liege...what are you saying?"

The King shrugged. "Saying? Nothing, in particular. Only that if a well respected and old house of Noxus,-House Du Couteau preferably but that would be hoping for too much perhaps-were to join itself to an old and venerable house of Demacia-again it would be far too much to hope a house such as the Crownguard-it would not be such a terrible development. And on the eave of a peace between the two nations? Well, how could that not be of monumental service to such a peace?" The King smiled "Why, it would be Lady Rushclover and Lord Hightower on a much grander scale. How fitting, if another Son of Demacia were to raise himself to the occasion."

Garen reached for one of the nearby chairs to steady himself. "My...my liege, I...I don't-"

The King interrupted Garen. "Of course, this is surely all speculation. An old man's musing really. Nothing to concern yourself about. Thank you for talking with me Garen, you are dismissed."

Garen looked to the prince, who's face was stern consternation as he looked to his father.

Garen, whose world had gone dreamlike, his every motion light and unreal, turned to leave.

"Oh and Garen." the King said. "The next time you see her, give Katarina a taste of your Demacian pride, will you?"

The way the King said it was so like the prince Garen remembered the latter to be his son. Before Garen could answer, the prince put his hand on Garen's shoulder.

"Garen, you leave. I need to have a word with my father."

Garen bowed. "Thank you, my King." And left.

Jarvan waited until Garen's footsteps faded before rounding on his father.

The king smiled. "What is it, my son?"

"What the hell was that?" Jarvan said.

The king's face darkened slightly. "My son, you forget yourself. I am still king."

Jarvan ignored that. "What are you doing to Garen?"

The king raised his eyebrows. "Doing? I'm not doing-"

"Bullshit!" Jarvan spat.

The king considered his son. "Tell me, my son, why do you believe my conduct towards Garen is, to use your decorum, 'bullshit?'"

"You know how Garen feels about Katarina." Jarvan said.

The king chuckled. "I would guess half of the court knows how Garen feels about Katarina."

"So why did you all but give him your approval?" Jarvan said.

"I believed I rehearsed my reasons, my son." The king said.

"And we both know those reasons are bullshit. Peace with Noxus? This 'peace' is only a ruse. After their botched Ionian invasion Noxus is weaker now than it has ever been. This 'armistice' is nothing more than a chance for Noxus to lick its wounds, but if Demacia were to redouble its efforts, we might have a chance at finishing Noxus once and for all."

The king's face became unreadable, but Jarvan knew the fire burning in his father's heart. Ever since the king's father had been killed by the Noxian warrior named Sion the king held a hatred for Noxus even beyond what was typical of Demacians.

"You don't want peace with Noxus." Jarvan said.

"I want peace with Noxus if it best serves the people of Demacia and the world." The king said.

"But you don't believe it is." Jarvan said.

"No." the king said.

"So why..."

Then he saw it.

"You think you can use a romance between Garen and Katarina to your advantage." Jarvan said.

"I don't think I can use it to my advantage at all. I know that we can use it to Demacia's advantage. At best Garen convinces Katarina to defect to Demacia. If there is anything Marcus Du Couteau loves, it is his daughters, and while I doubt he would go so far as to break the truce, it will at the very least cause discontent we will be able to use. Even if they were to wed, but she were not to defect, Noxus will not take it well, and may even turn on House Du Couteau for treachery, or weakness." The king's smile was without humor. "Which is one and the same in Noxus, I suppose."

"What if Katarina spurns him?" Jarvan asked.

The king shrugged. "Garen will get over it, in time."

"What if..." Jarvan stopped himself. To suggest it was madness, but so was love, and love was something Garen never-

"What if Garen defects to Noxus?" The king asked.

The words were like a gale, drowning all other sounds and thoughts away.

The king at least had the grace to look sad. "I have considered that possibility."

"And you find the risk acceptable?" Jarvan asked in disbelief.

The king looked away, confirming Jarvan's suspicions.

"I do not believe," the king started. "Garen would defect...but love has a way of changing people, especially the young. But if he were to defect, Demacia would hate Noxus for it."

"Demacia already hates Noxus." Jarvan said.

"No!" The king looked at his son sternly. "At least not enough. Demacia has been fighting Noxus for so long most have forgotten why. This peace is even now creating complacency among the people, and can you blame them? Parents no longer have to send their sons and daughters to die, soldiers get to return home and start families, trade with lands once unreachable is beginning to develop. The old flames of fury against the blight of Noxus is fading, and if Garen were to defect...well it'd just be a spark-"

"But it might be enough to help rekindle the fire?" Jarvan said.

The king hesitated, then nodded. "It...it won't come to it, I'm sure."

"And if it does?" Jarvan asked. "Will not losing the Son of Demacia devestate the people?"

The king shook his head. "Demacia has other sons, other symbols. Our pride is not in Garen alone."

Jarvan couldn't believe it. "Garen loves you, father, and you return that love by playing him."

The king shot to his feet. "Garen loves Demacia! I have not commanded him to do anything! If Garen is played, it is himself who does it!"

Jarvan shook his head. "I will not allow this. I will tell Garen."

The king smiled sadly. "What do you think would happen then, my son?"

Jarvan considered, and his heart fell. "It would change nothing."

Because the simple fact was, everything the king had said and done was for Demacia. Garen would approve, may even go along with it. As much as Jarvan hated to admit it, the king's machinations were sound, and he had chosen the best option for Demacia.

 _No, not the best._ Jarvan realized. _The best option would've been to command Garen to pursue Katarina._

"No." Jarvn said. "I will not allow my friend to be used as a pawn."

"I have allowed Garen to make his own decision." The king said. "If I am to be blamed for anything, it is that. If you tell him, Garen would follow his duty."

Jarvan was shaking, he never felt such anger towards his father. "I will command him to stay away from Katarina. He may hate me for it, but it would..."

 _What, be best?_

The king sighed and fell into his seat, for a moment looking his fifty years. "Perhaps that would be for the best. I do love Garen, Jarvan, no matter what you think. But I cannot allow an opportunity for promoting Demacia's future pass."

 _And Garen would applaud you for that._

Garen stumbled through the halls as if in a daze.

 _The King approves, I am free to pursue Katarina._

It couldn't be true, could it? Could the Gods be so good to him?

 _And if she wants me..._

Garen walked, the world becoming a blur, voices coming and going and Garen answering without knowing what he was saying and the sky became lighter and darker as was its want and there was food but the sweetness in him did not come from it.

"Hail, Clownguard."

Reality snapped back into solidity.

Katarina stood in front of him, wearing a dazzling red lace dress superbly modest in exposure of skin, utterly immodest in the accentuation of curves. Katarina had a habit of wearing such dresses on her regular pre-match encounters, which Garen (rightly) suspected were only apparently chance.

 _But she doesn't come until the day before and our next match isn't for another four..._

Three days had passed since his meeting with the King. Garen's mind had registered the fact with little direct conscious input on his part. Garen was about to consider the full implications of his three day daze but Katarina stepped forward, laughing.

Laughing in that cruel knowing yet somehow melodious way like the song of a song bird crossed with a raptor that made his blood boil but only partly in anger.

"Oh, are you afraid Garen? Is that fear I smell?" She dipped towards him, made a play of smelling him. "Why yes, I think it-"

"Woman, you have no idea how much trouble you're in."

The words didn't so much as come from Garen, but from _inside_ Garen. It was though a beast long dormant (sleeping in either his heart, his stomach, or lower he couldn't tell) had woken and was crawling its way into Garen's brain.

Katarina blinked. Since Katarina had started appearing the day before their matches to taunt him Garen had largely stood there and taken it. She would ridicule his manhood, his training, his ideals, and Garen would try to respond as chivalrously as he could, under the circumstances. This had only seemed to enflame her.

Katarina tilted her head. "Oh, what is this? Does the Clownguard have a spine after all?"

"Clownguard has a lot more than a spine, Lady Du Couteau." Garen said.

 _What am I saying?_

Katarina looked slightly less shocked then himself, but she stepped closer. "My my, such braggadocio, did you wake up in a Noxian bed this morning? Don't be too full of yourself, Clownguard."

Garen laughed and stepped closer, their bodies only half a foot apart.

"Full of myself? How could I be full of myself, when day after day I have to see you?"

He stepped closer.

"And oh, how you taunt me."

Katarina's eyes widened, but she did not retreat.

"No woman has a right to be so beautiful as you, Lady Du Couteau. Every time I look at you part of me dies."

Katarina gasped and for once had no retort for Garen.

Garen stepped closer so only inches separated them.

"You should be punished for all that you've done to me. Maybe," Garen smiled. "I should take you over my knee."

 _Stop man! Stop it now! I've gone insane gods help me._

With an effort Katarina tore her eyes off of Garen's chest to meet his own. "I'd...I'd like to see you try." She said it neutrally, whether it was rebuke or a statement of fact left unclear. The look in her eyes, however spoke volumes.

 _She wants me._ Garen thought.

Garen closed the distance, their bodies touched.

Katarina whimpered, but did not retreat.

 _Mine if I take her._

 _If I take her._

 _ **If I take her!**_

 _ **TAKE HER!**_

The beast seized Garen. He put a hand on her hip and another on her shoulder and pushed her against a wall. Garen knew Katarina's strength and tenacity, so he was surprised by how quickly her body gave under his touch.

His face was inches from hers when he felt her shiver. It was a small feeling, but it shook Garen to his very core.

 _What am I doing?_

Is she scared? Perhaps he had misjudged, he needed to step back.

A small gust of wind blew along the wall and sent a waft of Katarina's hair into Garen's face and her perfume filled his mind. Conscious thought ceased for a moment as he buried his face into her hair.

Katarina whined.

 _What am I doing?_

Garen was not this sort of man. Was he?

 _Who am I?_

 _"_ Garen..." Katarina's sounded out of breath. "No..please..."

At the word "no" he snapped out of it. The beast turned and ran back into its cage.

Garen hurriedly stepped back.

A look of confusion (hurt?) spread across Katarina's face.

Garen knelt on one knee and inclined his head. "Lady Du Coutaeu, I cannot begin to apologize. I...accosted you, and said such impertinent things, I should have never done it. I understand completely if you want to call upon Demacian law."

"You truly are the worse, Garen Crownguard." Katarina said.

Garen went cold, oh what a fool he had been to hope in such things.

Garen felt Katarina take his hand into her own. Then, without a word or backwards glance, Katarina lead Garen into a dark corner of an empty stone room.

When they fell in shadows Katarina threw her arms around Garen's neck, and said somewhat sheepishly. "If you had let me finish, I was going to say 'please...not here.'"

And she kissed him.

Her lips were fire, and he let himself be consumed.

Time passed. Or did it? It must have, but neither Garen or Katarina could tell. Garen lost himself to the feel of her lips, the taste of her breath, the music of her sighs. Katarina let Garen envelope her, let his powerful arms draw her in and hold her and thought if he pressed her against himself to death she wouldn't mind and she wouldn't fight back but might even welcome it.

They paused for a moment, and then resumed.

Eventually, however, the kiss stopped.

"I hope," Katarina said "you don't think I will take it easy on you in our next match now, Clownguard."

Garen laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Somewhere in the distance a bell rang.

"I think..." Katarina said hesitantly. "I need to leave. Classes, or something." She idly twirled her finger on Garen's chest. "Though I much prefer your lessons on Demacia."

"What lessons do I teach?" Garen asked.

"How Demacian men treat their ladies." Katarina chuckled.

 _My lady._

Katarina pushed herelf out of Garen's embrace.

"We...we ought to discuss this." Garen said.

Katarina nodded. "Yes, eventually."

Katarina looked into Garen's heavenly blue eyes and felt her heart melt. _You Demacian dog what are you doing to me?_

"I will see you tomorrow, Garen."

She turned and walked away without a word.

As she walked down the halls she tried to process the events. She had been trained to fight, imbued by her father with instincts to never let herself be cornered or vulnerable. Trained to escape and strike from any position or situation. But when Garen had slammed her against that wall all her instincts, all her training, fled. When the heat of his breath hit her neck she may as well have been bound and naked for all the good she could do against it.

 _And then he had to step back, and act all...chi valorous._

How could a man be so stupid? How could such a man be so...un-Noxian. He wanted her, he had her, but then he was willing to give her up the moment he thought she wished it. Part of her did want it to stop, but then he had to step away and bow and act like a knight in a Demacian fairy tale they told in Noxus to laugh at the silliness of Demacia but secretly the court women found enchanting but Katarina always thought was stupid. Or rather, thought she thought was stupid.

 _Now I don't know what I think anymore._

That wasn't entirely true.

Katarina Du Couteau was fairly certain she was in love with Garen Crownguard.


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks passed, and Garen almost never saw Katarina outside of their sparring matches. He'd wander the court just to catch a sight of her, but everytime he thought he saw a flash of fire colored hair amidst the crowd he'd turn and there'd be nothing. Garen's world went from a dream to a nightmare, the pain of not seeing Katarina, the longing in his heart, left him dazed*. The only thing that kept him going was that, after their second match, Garen finally was able to corner Katarina in an empty barracks room and then...

Then Katarina could not hold herself back and threw herself onto Garen and lost herself in his arms and his kiss. Garen tried to speak, but she would kiss him all the harder, afraid of what his words might do to her, and soon Garen was content to the silence. When the kiss ended, Katarina whispered, "we will talk Garen, I promise." And she ran. Ran from him, from his eyes that made her heart turn to dust and float away and the way he said her name that made her forget that it was her because it sounded so good and wonderful that it couldn't have been the same word.

 _How did this happen?_

If she didn't know better she might have believed Garen a mage and had cast a spell over her. She wished it was that simple, then it wouldn't be her own heart that was betraying her now.

 _I love him._

She had realized she planned her life around such a thing never happening. She had assumed such things were for lesser people, for people who did not have the drive to greatness, the drive to become worthy of the name Du Couteau. She had thought the sonnets and the poems and the crooning were all for women who lacked the tenacity to rise above one's birth and to command one's nature.

Perhaps she had been right. Perhaps she wasn't the women father had trained her to be. How could she be? When she was so...weak.

She had tried to suppress her feelings, tried to ignore them, but then she'd see Garen come looking for her and her self-control would begin to crumble like the sand walls they were and she would run but seeing the hurt in his eyes when he did not find her almost made her cry.

Of course, she couldn't keep it up forever. She couldn't run from him forever, didn't want to.

 _But...he could kill me with a word._

No, he already had.

Katarina leapt between the trees, their sap and needles overpowering in her nose, acrid and fiery.

 _Like his scent._

Gods, could she not think of him for ten minutes?

At the moment the answer was no.

In their last meeting, Jehusannah could tell Katarina was distracted, Katarina tried to recover by asking after Jehusannah's upbringing in Alhi'wal. Katarina did not believe it worked.

 _She'll see it again._

She sighed as she approached the fire where Jehusannah sat.

 _Damn that blue-eyed bastard._

Katarina landed in the outcropping.

And knew someone else was there.

She dove and reached for one of her blades, but before her fingers touched their handle the shadows seemed to come alive and launch themselves at her. She felt the tip of a knife at her back.

"You have improved." A very familiar voice said. "I had meant to hide from you for a while still. Good to see Demacia hasn't blunted your edge.

Katarina threw her arms over Talon.

"Katarina." Talon said. "You shouldn't be so quick to accept who your opponent claims to be. It might be a trap."

Katarina laughed. "It could only be you Talon. Only you could get the drop on me like that. Why are you here?"

It took a solid month on horseback to reach the Demacian heartland from Noxus Prime. And indeed, as they stepped into the firelight and Katarina got a better look at Talon she saw her brother looked like he had been through weeks of hard riding. His dark coat had stains, his typically slick hair was disheveled, and there was a pained redness to his eyes.

Talon noticed Katarina's stare and waived it away.

"The current state of my attire is largely due to a failed attempt to corner your tail." He nodded towards both of Katarina and Jehusannah.

The women looked at each other. "Our tail?"

Talon tilted his head. "You didn't know? You were being followed."

Jehusannah stood. "Impossible! My cover hasn't been blown!"

Talon shrugged. "That may be, but there was a woman waiting in the trees when I arrived a few hours ago. I wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for her trained Vesivian eagle. Most fly south to Targon this close to autumn."

Katarina shook her head. Only Talon, with his strange love of birds, would've known as much about the migratory patterns of an eagle across the continent.

"We have to find this woman and kill her before she alerts Demacian authorities." Katarina said.

"I'd be shocked if she hasn't alerted them long ago." Talon said. "She knew exactly where you were meeting, my guess is she followed you before."

"I have failed my mission." Jehusannah said.

Talon waived dismissively. "I wouldn't beat yourself up over that. She was good. Almost as good as me. Besides, as you said, your cover has not been blown. Marcus Du Couteau is very pleased with your work thus far, Thue'afea."

Jehusannah bowed.

"Thue'afea?" Katarina asked.

"It is my code name, in my language it means "snake of the sands." Jehusannah said. "But why have you come, Talon?"

Talon turned to Jehusannah now. "Father sent me after your last report, Thue'afea."

Jehusannah turned to Katarina, then quickly away.

"How goes your romance with Garen Crownguard, Katarina?"

Katarina thought she was at the lowest point of embarrassment possible.

"If the way you threw yourself at him in the barracks was any indication," Talon said. "It is going quite well."

Katarina had been mistaken.

She looked at Talon's face, her own face so hot that if she shoved it in the fire she thought it'd only cool her off, and when she met his eyes her world shook a bit. She turned away, her hands covering her face in a futile attempt to hide.

"I never thought I'd see a look like that on your face." Talon said.

 _Talon knows, oh fuck me Talon knows._ Katarina thought. _How could he possibly…_

Katarina looked to Jehusannah, who was clearly trying to avoid Katarina's gaze.

Betrayal stabbed at Katarina's heart, and this bothered her, but not because of the betrayal. Indeed, the betrayal was no betrayal at all, Jehusannah (or Thue'afea or Jennia or whatever her name was) had been watching Katarina and reporting to her father. A Demacian may have taken the act to be a sign of distrust, but a Noxian would've known better. You watch even those you trust, as they can hurt you the most. That Katarina would feel the hint of betrayal suggested emotional compromise.

 _Which, of course, I am._

Before that thought could fully sound itself another came and knocked it out of her mind.

"Father knows?" Katarina asked.

"Of course." Talon said.

For the first time in her life, Katarina felt as though she would faint.

 _No, stop it! I am not my sister!_

Oh how much she wanted to ask after Cassiopeia, to hear how she's grown and what she's learned, but now was not the time.

"It, I will…" Katarina was trying to say she would end it, but the words caught in her throat. Katarina stood straight. "Father would have me end it." She had known it couldn't last, hadn't she? It was better this way, having Katarina's father order her to end it, it might bring her back to her senses, remind her of her true goal. To become the best weapon of Noxus she could be.

"Perhaps." Talon said.

Katarina's breath caught. "Perhaps?"

Talon put his hands behind his back and walked slowly around Katarina, like a man considering a viper in his path. "Father has sent no commands, but a message. 'See it through.'"

"I don't understand." Katarina said.

"Neither do I." Talon said. "But father would not explain. He did, however, see four possibilities.

"First, this is nothing more than a summer passion, and you will have him and grow bored with him and move on." Talon waited, as though for confirmation that this was the correct answer.

Part of Katarina wanted desperately for that to be true, but she did not believe it.

Talon went on. "Second, you will conquer him and claim him as your own. And by extension, Noxus."

"Father would permit that?" Katarina stepped forward too quickly and spoke too eagerly.

"Of course." Talon said. "Garen Crownguard, the Son of Demacia as some call him, he would be an excellent addition to the Noxian ranks, and a great prize for house Du Couteau."

Katarina's heart thrummed so hard in her chest she was afraid her ribs would crack. _I could have Garen._ The night seemed to grow a little lighter.

"The third option." Talon's voice shook Katarina out of her fantasies of having Garen in the Du Couteau manor. "You will find that your feelings for the man are a liability, a weakness you must cut out of yourself."

The night grew pitch black.

"The fourth option?" Katarina asked.

"He will conquer you." Talon said.

Katarina couldn't breathe, and she looked away.

Talon sighed but said nothing.

"I will not fail my father." Katarina said. "I will not fail House Du Couteau and I will not fail Noxus."

"I believe you." Talon said. "And so does father."

"This...with Garen it is a childish indulgence, it means nothing and will amount to nothing." Katarina said, ignoring the reflexive hate she felt towards herself for saying it.

Talon did not respond.

Katarina glared at him. "It is nothing!"

Talon shook his head. "You would not get so worked up over nothing, Katarina. I've...I've never seen you like this before."

"Like what?"

"As offset as you are."

Katrina looked away.

For a long time none of them spoke.

 _Four options._ Katarina thought. She felt she could safely rule out the first. The second was the one she wanted, the one she longed for, the third she hated, the fourth…

 _The fourth is happening right now._

What would it mean for the heir of House Du Couteau to be so hopelessly vulnerable to the Son of Demacia? Would that not prove she was unworthy to be called the heir? Would that not show the world that house Du Couteau was not singular in its mission, unviolable in its purpose? Would it not render all the work Katarina had done null and void? There was only one answer she could see and it was in the affirmative.

 _It must end, I must end it._ Katarina thought.

Then the thought of the look in Garen's eyes when she told him, the pain in his voice when he whispered her name, and she saw it was no good. His blows she could suffer, his tears she could not.

"I should leave." Katarina said suddenly. "I should go back to Noxus with you."

"No, you shouldn't." Talon said. "Besides, you can't, I'm not going back to Noxus."

Garen was not forgotten, but he was no longer at the forefront of her mind. "What?"

"Father has commanded me to meet him in Shurima." Talon said.

"Father is going to Shurima? Who will watch over Cassiopeia?" Katarina asked

"She will come too." Talon said.

"Why Shurima?" Katarina asked.

"I do not know." Talon said

"I do." Jehusannah said.

They both turned to her. Jehusannah looked into the flames and seemed to be talking as much to herself as to them. "I keep an ear out for news from home. That is not suspicious to the Demacians, for all their talk of family and roots. There have been whispers, things not spoken or heard of since ages long pass." Jehusannah met Talon's eyes and held them. "They say the buried city is rising. They say the Sun Disc stirs."

Katarina knew next to nothing about Shurima's history, but even she knew about the Sun Disc.

"That which made men gods." Katarina breathed. Jehusannah nodded.

Katarina never knew father's and Swain's full intention in calling this truce, but if Noxus could claim the Sun Disc for itself, Noxus would become unstoppable.

 _All the more reason for me to chose a side…_

She needed to make her decision, and quickly.

 _Then...I will have him._

She was waiting for him at the foot of the chapel, he had just finished praising the gods for blessing Demacia at the service, and now he found he didn't do it hard enough. She wore a traveling dress and a determined look.

"Garen," Katarina said. "Walk with me."

They walked along path of lake Greenfeather within the King's forest. Autumn was approaching, and the leaves were a cascade of yellow and reds and greens. Yet all it paled next to her beauty. Katarina caught Garen staring at her and he looked away. He had noted with more excitement then he cared to admit that she was taking him away from the city and prying eyes. It was painful how badly he wanted to take her into his arms, but he saw there was something in her eyes, and held himself.

"Lady Du Couteau," Garen said at last. "I am very glad you have chosen to walk with me."

Katarina smiled. "I'm happy you've come along."

 _I'd go anywhere with you._

"I.." Katarina started. "I apologize for not speaking with you sooner. I...I needed to reflect."

"I understand." Garen said, his mood suddenly deflating. He had forgotten that he, too, had reflected.

 _How can this end?_ Garen had asked himself, and the answer frightened him. He didn't know. His entire life he knew what he was for, what he needed to do, and who he needed to be.

 _But when I'm with her, I forget all of that._

 _Who am I?_

"What have these reflections shown you, my lady?" Garen asked.

Katarina did not answer.

They walked along the path, listening to the soft lapping of the lake and the brief birdsongs of those who had not taken flight for the fall.

"In Noxus Prime," Katarina said "there isn't a forest for miles around, much less within walking distance."

"I am sure Noxus Prime has its own beauties." Garen said as he looked to Katarina. He never would've dreamed to pay Noxus Prime a compliment...but looking upon Katarina made the words as easy as breathing.

Katarina looked at Garen, and seemed to waiver. She looked away and said. "Yes, yes it does. The Halls of Honor are particularly wonderful to behold." Katarina looked furtively at Garen. "We have a statue to King Jarvan the II in there, did you know?"

"As a mockery?" Garen asked.

"As an honor." Katarina said. "We honor our enemies in Noxus, Garen. We honor strength, and those who can stand against Noxus are the strongest in the world. They make us stronger and we love that which makes us stronger...so we love Demacia."

Garen froze. The thought was so bizarre, so utterly contradictory of everything he knew about Noxus and Demacia that it made the world vertigo.

Katarina moved closer to Garen. "You...you would make a fine statue in Noxus, Garen."

"Me?" Garen almost laughed. "Why would Noxus honor me? I'm Demacian through and through."

There was a look of pleading in Katarina's eyes. "Why should that stop us from…" Katarina hesitated "from honoring you? You are strong, courageous, loyal, stalwart, even your silly little code of honor has strength in it. We honor those things, cherish those things, love those things. And you." Katarina put a hand on Garen's chest and almost whispered the words. "We would love you in Noxus."

 _She's asking me to defect to Noxus._

To Garen's absolute horror, he found himself tempted.

 _Run from this woman!_ Garen absently fingered the Crownguard pin on his doublet. How could he be tempted to betray his home? His father and mother and sister and the Prince and the King and all the men and women who fought and died and toiled to give him and his people a life of security and peace?

"My heart and soul is always for Demacia." Garen said, hating the quaver in his voice.

"Only for Demacia?"

Yes, he wanted to say.

He said nothing.

Tears began to form in Katarina's eyes. "I guess if it were otherwise, you wouldn't be my Garen…"

Garen wrapped his arm around Katarina's waist and drew her in close and she came to him without resistance.

"I don't need to go to Noxus." Garen spoke frantically now. "And you don't need to stay in Demacia. Noxus and Demacia, we aren't enemies anymore." What was he saying? He couldn't truly believe it, could he? No, he had to. Because it was the only way he could keep Katarina. "We could be together. We'd split our time between Noxus Prime and the Rock of Kings, I could be yours, and you could be mine."

She kissed him. Hard frantic desperate and pleading all at once. She raked his doublet, almost as if trying to rip it open.

Katarina felt a blinding pain in the palm of her hand, but she did not care, for a far deeper pain was already clawing in her chest.

 _He could be mine...if I would be his._

She was Katarina Du Couteau, she belonged to no man.

Except this one.

' _Cut out the weaknesses you can, my daughter.'_

She tore herself away from Garen.

"I can't," she cried. "Garen I want to but I can't."

"Katarina p—"

"No!" She shouted and pushed him away. She could not suffer his pleading.

Each step away from him was agony, torture.

Tears were in Garen's eyes now. "Katarina, I don't understand."

She turned and ran from him. It took every ounce of willpower she had to do it, but she fled.

If she and Garen were to be together, he would have the power of life and death over her, and that would be unacceptable, so she ran. She ran now while it wouldn't kill her. But it came close, damn close. The world turned into a green blur as she ran, then a grey one, and then she was back in her own room, the door shut firmly behind her. And she cried. She was horrified (she hoped) that Garen would chase her, embraced her, because she did not think she had the strength to tear herself away from him again.

She needn't had worried: Garen fell to his knees the moment Katarina began to run, and he did not move until night came and his sister found him.

 _Go back to him._ Her heart pleaded. _Go back to him, go back to his arms, please go back before you lose him forever._

"I can't." Katarina said. She could not, would not, put everything she worked for in jeopardy.

 _Please go back._

Her hand tightened into a fist.

And the stabbing pain in her palm reannounced itself.

She opened her hand, and saw the pin of house Crownguard lying in a pool of her own blood. She had torn it off of Garen as she ran.

She wept herself to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi Internets,

I've been slow, I know, but I've been doing a lot of things and promise I haven't been idle. I will finish this story, but it sort of morphed beyond my initial plans along the way. Anyway, here's the next part.  
Thanks for reading,

One would assume that Garen and Katarina would have skipped their next duel, but one would be mistaken. Garen went just to get a look at Katarina, who seemed to have vanished from his world after she ran from him. Katarina's pride (and perhaps something else) would not allow her to leave a challenger on the battlefield unanswered.

The crowd sensed the tension, the change in postures, the look in both combatants eyes, and knew something was amiss. This of course made them all the more excited.

"A lover's quarrel?" whispered Lady Bartric.

"It has to be, look at Garen's eyes!" Lady Venelope whispered back.

"There's so much pain!"

"So much longing!"

"And…"

Anger. Anger was what they saw in Garen's eyes.

Garen was ashamed of the anger inside of him, how it was unfair and irresponsible. Katarina did what she thought was right, what she wanted, she owed Garen nothing.

 _But she had to kiss me!_ Garen's hand's tightens on the blunted greatsword. _She had to give me hope, if only she hated hated me and spurned me…_

Maybe it wouldn't feel like he was dying inside.

He launched himself at her, struggling in vain to withhold his rage.

Katarina blinked and barely withdrew in time to avoid a cleave. Garen's rage reverbertated into Katarina, whose own anger responded.

 _I didn't ask for you to fall in love with me!_ Katarina's blood grew hot. _I didn't ask for you to look at me with those big blue eyes! It's your fault, if you had just kept to yourself or found some Demacian maiden none of this would've happened._

 _I wouldn't have fallen in love with you._

Katarina's anger flashed and she leapt on him, stabbing at him with her daggers until he threw her off of him.

Garen and Katarina's sparring matches became more animated, more visceral, in a word: more fun. The crowds became even larger, the matches even more hyped.

While the crowds drowned in the spectacle, Prince Jarvan watched with a more discerning eye. He had been trained since childhood to see things most would miss, the subtleties of body language, the barest flucation of pitch in pronunciation, as these were clues to heart of a person. But even without it Jarvan could see what had happened between Garen and Katarina.

 _Looks like I didn't need to intervene after all._

He had tried to tell Garen, had stormed out of his father's room and meant to speak to Garen, but came upon his friend looking as though he just had a vision of heaven, and he withheld himself.

He also found the thought of Garen hating him far more disconcerting than it should have been.

 _I may be king one day._ Jarvan thought, and unconsciously grimaced. _I should get used to people I love hating me._

That made him wonder whether that was why father was willing to use Garen's feelings for Katarina to Demacia's gain.

Jarvan shook his head.

Outside of the matches with Katarina, Garen was often despondent and far less prone to laughter or smiles as he typically was.

Lux was beside herself with worry. Furthermore, it was not only Garen she worrried for. Katarina had discontinued their training lessons and effectively cut off any saddened Lux deeply, as she had grown quiet attached to the Noxian. Ever since Jarvan had suggested to Garen that Katarina liked him, Lux found herself increasingly warming to the idea. There was a little jealousy at first, Garen was her best friend, but she knew there was a connection between the two that she as not privy to and for the first time in her life she felt distanced from him. Naturally she would come to resent Katarina a little, wouldn't she?

But the more she considered the possibility of having Katarina as a sister, the more she liked it. She adored Garen, but he was thick headed and a boy (sometimes synonymous). There were things Garen just didn't get, like her desire to be able to protect herself, or the subtleties of conversation (Garen was particularly bad on that score). Also Garen was so...Demacian. Lux loved Demacia, but she was always fascinated by the places outside of it. Piltover, Zaun, Bilgewater, Ionia and Shurima and the Freljord, so many fascinating people and things she wanted to see. Garen, gods bless him, was completely content with his homeland. In this regard Katarina was much the same as Garen. Yet Katarina was a window into a world she had never known.

 _If Garen and Katarina got together._

She would have a sister, an excuse to travel the world, and maybe even little nephews to care for and they would just be so cute if they had Garen's eyes and Katarina's hair.

All those fantasies were quickly dying in the coldness between Garen and Katarina.

Autumn spread across Demacia like a slow fire. The trees burst into color and then slowly became barren. Garen and Katarina continued their matches, telling themselves they would skip the next fight but being drawn there nonetheless. They had both recognized the danger of the fight beyond the battlefield, however. Sometimes their bodies would collide, and there would be a spark that would turn into a fire. Once when such a fire was raging inside of them they accidentally (one of the rare genuine coincidences) found themselves alone with each other. Before Katarina could stop herself she leapt onto Garen, wrapped her legs around his hips, and kissed him. It took the footsteps of an oncoming guard to tear themselves apart, after which Katarina ran away as fast as she could.

 _Stupid weak little girl!_

Garen, for his part, was unsure whether the event had truly happened or whether it was a dream.

Just as winter began its creep into the land Jarvan was summoned to a council he had not expected. He was told to come alone to the understudy, which could only mean it was a secret meeting.

The Great Hall above, also known as the Pillared Hall, was a spacious and embossed affair, with a dozen immense reliefed stone pillars leading up to the council's bench and king's throne, while light cascaded from the stain glass windows above. The Understudy was its opposite. Dark, cold, damp, it's only decoration were the shelves of musky books. Incidentally the Understudy where much of the court and king's real work was done, and as the Prince pushed open the old wooden gate he saw that the work to be done that night was great indeed.

Out of the two dozen faces in the room Jarvan recognized only one by sight. Piltover had brought (paraded) Jayce Giopara before the Demacian court as the youngest man to join clan Giopara, the de facto rulers of Piltover. He leaned against a wall, smug and cheerily indifferent.

Jarvan couldn't place it, but for some reason he had always liked Jayce.

Next to Jayce a blue haired woman wearing a very official looking Pilotveran suit watched the Prince warily. Jayce smiled and nodded in the Prince's direction.

The King sat behind a desk in the back of the room and stood as the doors closed behind the Prince.

"My son." The King said. "You obeyed my orders for once." Before the Prince could reply the King waived to the room. "Introductions are in order I suppose. Do you remember Jayce of Clan Giopara?"

"Yes," the Prince replied. "Who's the other Piltoverian?"

"She," the woman said. "Is Caityln, a member of the Piltoverian Police force."

"But don't hold that against her." Jayce said.

The King went around the room, and with each name the weight of the situation bore more and more. Ashe Snowdancer, a stern faced and white haired young woman, and the leader of the Avorasan tribe, the largest clan in the otherwise lawless Freljord. Next to her was a dark haired and severe looking man named Tryndamere, which the Prince distantly remembered meant Tryn of Mere in the tongue of the Rageborn, the second largest clan in the Freljord. Next was a dark-skinned woman of transcendent beauty named Darha, known to her people as the Karma, the spiritual leader of Ionia. Beside her was a shadowy man named Shen Long, head of the Red Lotus, the military leaders of Ionia. Next was a massive woman with more muscles than Garen named Illaoi, beside her was a pompously dressed man with a long dark beard who named himself Francis Railay, but the Prince knew the world called the man Gangplank, the most feared pirate in the world. To the Prince's shock there were even Yordles in the room, a small brown creature named Teemo and a purpish skinned one named Tristana.

 _Bandle City sends represenatives, but the Yordles never send emissaries._

The most important people in all of Valoran were gathered in that room.

The King gave the Prince a slight nodded, evidentally reading the Prince's conclusion on his face.

"Has Noxus broken the truce, father?" The Prince knew of no other reason why they would all be here.

The room went silent.

"No," the King said. "At least not yet."

"That is why we have gathered." the Karma spoke now. "Noxus marches towards the Sun Disc."

"What?" The Prince spun to the woman.

"You know of it?" the Karma said.

"All children of Valoran know of it! If Noxus were to get its hands on it…"

Another idea came to him.

"Are we going to break the truce?" The Prince asked.

The room grew quiet again.

"That…" the King said. "Is what we are going to decide."

"We?" the Prince asked.

"Yes," Ashe spoke now, "Noxus is not your enemy alone."

"Not," Tryndamere said. "That we're friends."

There was blood between the Freljord and Demacia, with constant raids along the border land and old grudges about Demacian incursion into the mountains.

The Prince and Tryndamere locked gazes. Tryndamere grunted, and nodded to the Karma. "I'm surprised she even came at all, the way you Demacians are about magic."

 _Ah, so it is brought up._

Demacian's were unique among the nations in their disdain for magic. It had been worse in the not so distant past, when magic began to flood back into the world. Demacia reacted at first by a strict isolationism and ruthless suppression of magic within its borders. This was unsustainable, however, as it not only left Demacia weaker, but it also conflicted with the Demacian ideals of Equality, Justice, and Peace. It came to a head with the Slyvaus revolt one hundred and fifty years ago, which was then promptly put down by the Dautnless Vanguard and Gallio. It taught Demacia, however, that it could not suppress magic entirely, not if it still wanted to be Demacia. Nevertheless, there were still deep seated distrust of magic wielders in Demacia, and while magic use was permitted in the vassal kingdoms, in the heart of Demacia magic was all but prohibited. Thus, Demacia was often thought of as the backward hicks of Valoran, afraid of magic.

 _In truth, we are the only ones who seem to remember the dangers of magic._

"Yes, we Demacians and our silly fear of magic." The Prince sneered. "By the way, how's the Ice Witch these days?"

Tryndamere shot to his feet and was on the the Prince. Then Ashe was between them, pushing Tryndamere back. "He's just a boy, for the gods' sake. And he is not our enemy."

"Noxus is." the Karma said.

"Are we so sure about that?" Jayce said.

All eyes in the room turned to Jayce.

"I mean," Jayce began. "Noxus has called for an armistice with all of us right? I was always under the impression an enemy is only an enemy when they are attacking you."

"You are mistaken." Shen said.

"Maybe." Jayce said. "Probably! Perhaps it would be better to say the only enemy worthy of the name is the enemy who can harm you."

"Are you saying," the King said. "Noxus cannot hurt us?"

"It can't." Jayce said. "Not at the moment anyway. It knows it is too weak to fight all the nations of Valoran at once. Hell, it probably wouldn't stand a dual attack from Demacia and Ionia. Although I imagine the casualties on all sides would be very high."

The King and the Karma looked at eachother.

"What does this boy know of war?" Tryndamere spat. "Why should we listen to his council?"

"We came," the Karma said quietly. "To listen to all council."

"Wisdom comes from many mouths." Illaoi said. "The boy is young, but the youth often have wisdom the elder lack."

The King raised an eyebrow at Illaoi. "Yes, they often do." His glance flickered towards the Prince's. "But I find that to be the exception rather than the rule. In any case, I would hear Jayce's proposal. Do you believe, Jayce, that we should do nothing as Noxus seeks the Sun Disc?"

Jayce waived his hand. "Oh no, we need to stop that. If the Sun Disc rises again, which I care to remind everyone in this room has not been confirmed."

The Karma and the King had been looking at eachother out of the corner of their eyes, looked away. It was a subtle movement, but the Prince had been trained to take special note of these.

Jayce went on. "I'm talking about _after._ If Noxus doesn't get the Sun Disc, who does?"

"No one." The King said.

The silence that followed the assertion was a testament to its instability.

"Oh?" Jayce smiled. "I know more than a few individuals in Piltover that would like to dispute that claim."

The King leaned forward. "Are you among them?"

"Of course not." Jayce said. "But some of the people...I don't think I could hold back."

"There are," Shen said after a pause, "powerful individuals in Ionia who would not be keen on letting a powerful magical artifact such as the Sun Disc lay un-claimed. Especially after Noxian invasion."

"The Sun Disc could be destroyed." The King ventured.

"Can it?" Jayce asked.

The argument went well on into the day, and by the end it was proof enough of Jayce's point. Removing Noxus created as many problems (if not more) than allowing it to parade its charade of peace. The Sun Disc needed to be kept out of Noxian hands, but it also needed to be kept out of their own.

The best option became clear to the Prince by the end.

Peace with Noxus.

Not a pretend peace, but a real, lasting, sustainable peace.

 _Is that even possible?_ Jarvan wondered.

The thought struck him so hard he had to leave before the meeting was finished. He pondered it over the next few days, and the longer he thought about it the more firmly entrenched it became. Removing Noxus at this moment would create a massive power vaccum, and in that vaccum who would say whether a new, even worse Noxus, might arise? Who was to say it would not change Demacia, if not into a Noxus, into something less than itself?

 _And what would make a better first step towards peace…_ Jarvan sat in the library, feigning studying. Beside him sat Garen, who did not even try to feign anything but misery. _But a marriage?_

The Gods, it seemed, had set the pieces in place long before any of them realized they needed it. One marriage would not end more than half a millenia of hostility...but it would be a start.

 _Crownguard and Du Couteau, it'd make a damn good start at that._

Jarvan arrived to the weekly match between Garen and Katarina early, as it was the only way to get good seats. To his immense surprise he found Jayce and Caitlyn sitting amidst the stalls.

"Are you still here?" Jarvan asked as he took a seat next to him.

Jayce chuckled. "I figured that since I'm out here, I may as well take in the sights. You may be surprised to learn this, but Piltover is not the cleanest city. It isn't Zaun, but this is the first time I've been able to sit down and not suck in pollution." Jayce shrugged. "So I decided to take a vacation here in Demacia, and I have to say it is quite nice. Although your women could use some loosening up. All that Measured Tread business, do you know how hard it was for me to find a bedmate?"

Caitlyn grunted in disgust.

"Not like Bilgewater," Jayce went on, almost blissfully. "I'm surprised brothels can even turn a profit there."

Jarvan laughed. "Well that explains why you're in Demacia, but why are you here specifically?"

"Oh please," Jayce said. "I couldn't stop hearing about these matches between Garen Crownguard and Katarina Du Couteau. Tell me, is it Demacian custom to have their wards publicly beaten?"

"Only when they are asking for it." Jarvan said. "And even then only when they can give as good as they get."

Jayce laughed. Jarvan smiled.

"So, is the all that about Garen and Katarina rutting true as well."

Jarvan stopped smiling. Jayce raised an eyebrow.

"I do not see." Jarvan said mildly. "Why that would be of any interest to you."

"Oh I believe you do." Jayce gave Jarvan a serious look. "You of all people."

"What's does that mean?" Jarvan asked.

"I think you see it." Jayce said. "That peace with Noxus is the best option."

"What makes you say that?" Jarvan asked.

"The way you left the meeting, the look on your face. I will say, it is hard to read you Demacians sometimes, at least you and your father, but I think I saw the glint of realization in your eyes." Jayce said.

Jarvan's smile was reflextive, the smile he used to mask his face as he processed a change in events. "Noxus and Demacia have been at war almost since their inceptions, how would peace be possible?"

"What was impossible in the past may become possible in the future. It is a little thing called Progress, you Demacians should consider it sometime." Jayce said.

Jarvan's smile almost broke.

Jayce leaned towards Jarvan. "They say Marcus Du Couteau has made it to Qis-Waty, and will march towards to the Sun Disc within the month. How do you think your father and the Ionians will take that?"

 _My father sees more than you know, Jayce._

"Isn't war a vehicle for Progress? Wouldn't that be good for Piltover?" Jarvan asked.

"War is a vehicle for a lot more than Progress. It can destroy as much as it can create." Jayce said.

"So can Progress." Jarvan said.

Jayce chuckled.

Jarvan sighed. "Let's say I see the value in peace, how could we do it?"

"We'd need to get creative." Jayce smiled. "Luckily that is my speciality."

"What did you have in mind?" Jarvan asked.

"Lots of things." Jayce said. "A good step would be some sort of, I don't know, combining of Noxian and Demacian house."

"It isn't going to happen." Jarvan said.

Jayce studied Jarvan's face for a moment, then shook his head. "Thought it was a long shot."

Neither Jayce or Jarvan spoke until the crowd rustled, which meant Garen had arrived. Garen strode unto the field in shimmering plate mail, holding a massive tourney sword. The crowd stood and began to cheer, some chanted "Demacia!"

 _But not everyone._

Jarvan blinked. He had never noticed that before. By rights all the crowd should have been cheering on Garen.

Then Katarina strode on the field.

Jayce whistled. "That's a firecracker if I ever saw one."

Jarvan ignored him.

There were boos and curses from the crowd…

 _But not from everyone._

Then Xin-Zhao walked onto the field.

Once it had become clear that the matches between Garen and Katarina were to become regular, and as they increased in intensity, it was clear there was a need for a mediator. Xin-Zhao had fought in Noxus arenas as a gladiator and was a master of arms besides, and to Jarvan's surprise volunteered.

Jarvan looked at Garen…

Garen looked at Katarina and felt the despair and longing twist in his chest like a viper constricting prey. What an apt image, this woman came into his life, poisoned him with her affection, and was now killing him.

Garen grip on his tourney broadsword tightend.

Katarina's beautiful green eyes saw this and flashed in anger.

 _Anger!_ Garen thought. _Anger what right does she have to be angry at me!_

He would have done anything for her, except one thing, and because he wouldn't do it she hated him? He would not, could not, give up Demacia.

 _My heart and soul always for Demacia!_

The words tasted less of zeal than they should, and his own fury filled him.

Katarina must have felt guilt before in her life, but if she had she could not remember it, it had never impacted her much. Guilt was for the weak, for those who lacked conviction in their cause or the fortitude to suppress the lesser emotions.

But when she looked at Garen she felt guilt like a pillowed anvil on her chest.

 _The bastard._ Katarina thought. _This Demacian scum, how dare he, how_ dare _he!_

What had she done to feel guilt over? She did not ask for him to look at her _that_ way with his sky blue eyes, she didn't ask for him to boyishly blush everytime she walked past, she didn't ask him to thrust her against a wall not once, but twice. She never asked to feel the hardness of his body against her, and worse, oh so much worse, the softness of his heart in her hands.

 _Oh but it was a trick wasn't it? It was only a clever plot, wasn't it._

Becuase the price had been her own heart.

 _No more._

Today she would beat him, today she would finally put him under her, and then her feelings for him would vanish. Today, for the first time, she would best him.

Katarina pulled out her blades and dropped low.

"Today Garen Crownguard." Katarina said. "I'm cutting you out."

Even from this distance Jarvan could feel the air still between Garen and Katarina, and he did not need his years of extensive training to read them. This was a lover's spat, which meant it was going to be particularly bloody. The crowd seemed to sense this, and collectively leaned forward. Out of the corner of his eyes Jarvan saw Jayce scan the crowd, evidentally sensing the excitement.

Xin-Zhao stepped forward and raised his hand. "When I drop my hand, the match begins. If I say "Tiang," you are to return to your starting position. If I say "Jong-Shi," the match is over and I will declare a victor or tie or no contest. Understood?"

Both Katarina and Garen nodded.

"Is it always this formal?" Jayce asked.

Jarvan waived him away.

Xin-Zhao held his hand up for a tense moment, then yelled "Kai-Shi!" and dropped it.

Katarina became a blur of twirling blades, plunging into and out of Garen like a wasp. But Garen's sword and armor made him an iron fortress, so only sparks flew whenever they collided.

There was a gasp in the crowd, and Jarvan dimly noted Caitlyn was one of them.

Katarina dove at Garen, but when his broadsword came to meet her she did not retreat but leapt onto it, using her to press against the flat of it against Garen. Garen held, which allowed Katarina a moment of access to freely stab away at Garen's plate, peeling it off bit by bit like bark from a tree. Garen caught hold and threw her off of him, Katarina used the moment to send a volley of blades down on him. Most fell harmlessly off his plate, but some made contact with exposed flesh. As they were all blunted they did not pierce skin, but their contact was made all the more apparent by the loud slapping sound against his body.

"Four points Katarina!" Xin-Zhao said.

Some in the crowd cheered, remembered they were in the heart of Demacia, and quieted themselves.

 _Demacians cheering for a Noxian?_ Jarvan thought.

Jayce must have been thinking the same thing, because he leaned over and said. "Do Demacians often cheer for the people on the other side."

"Yes." Jarvan realized. Now that he thought of it, when the crowd first came they were almost entirely on Garen's side. But as the crowd grew, and as the matches became more intense with Katarina's increase in skill (or at least familiarity) some of the crowd began to shift toher side (many of them women). A minority, yes, but not so small as to be immaterial.

Garen went on the offensive and charged, pressing Katarina back with massive swings.

 _Cutting me out?_ Garen thought. _Is it that easy for you?_

Garen lost himself fully to the battle. He was his sword and only his sword.

Katarina had learned the first lesson well, but she saw she could not keep up dodging forever.

In the stands a tall powerfully built woman stood and shouted. "Katarina! Defend yourself!"

Jarvan examined the woman, and to his utter surprise found it was Petran, one of the soldiers under Garen's command, and an Occtigonian aside.

Jarvan almost jumped when he heard Jayce whisper. "You look like you've just touched an open wire, Jarvan."

Jarvan spoke without thinking. "She's Petran, a soldier under Garen's command. She's from Occitagona, a vassal kingdom that shares a border with Noxus. They've been at war with Noxus longer than Demacia. You just saw an Occitagonian cheer for a Noxian. It's like seeing a dragon do cartwheels.

Jarvan was so shaken by what had occurred he missed the significant look on Jayce's face. Gone was all the smug bravado, and in its place was cool dispassionate examination.

 _A spectacle that makes people forget who they ought to be cheering?_ Jayce thought. _A spectacle that makes Demacians forget their blind hatred of Noxians for an instance? There is power in such a thing._

Jayce turned his attention back to the match.

Katarina leapt back and threw daggers at Garen which he deflected. Then she was leaping over him throwing daggers in the arch. Garen's mind went back to their first match, and sure enough when he deflected these daggers Katarina launched herself at his evidently exposed flank.

 _She knows better, this has to be a trick._

Garen turned to face her and looked for the trap, and saw that wasn't one. For sometimes the best approach to combat is to make a move so obvious that your opponent imagines it to be something other than what it is. In that second it took Garen to realize his error he was prone and on his back and Katarina straddled on top of him with her dual blades at his throat.

"I win, Crownguard." Katarina's face was feverish with victory. "Yield!"

Garen said nothing.

"I said yiel-" Katarina gasped.

Katarina's legs were straddled over Garen's hips, and having her over him and in spite of everything his body responded and he hardened.

Katarina's eyes fluttered, and her face softened.

"Yield…" The plea in her words made the true meaning evident.

 _Yield to me._

The world seemed to fade away, there was only Katarina, only her hips upon him, her eyes which put emeralds to shame, her flushed face like a dream.

 _Yield to her._ A voice inside Garen said. _Give yourself to her, she's won, you are powerless._

Garen groped for himself.

 _I can't give in._

Oh but that was a lie.

 _I can't turn my back on Demacia._

No, but he could still yield to Katarina.

Garen opened his mouth, suddenly aware of how close their faces were. "I…"

"JUST BLOODY KISS ALREADY!"

Garen found himself.

He turned to where the voice had come. He recognized Lady Bartric standing amidst the crowd, with all eyes pointed towards her. She seemed to remember herself suddenly, coughed into her hand, and sat back down.

"Lady Du Couteau." Garen said, making it a point to stare at anything but her. "You have bested me in combat. I forfeit. If you would be so kind as move off me."

Katarina hesitated and then grudgingly stood. She offered Garen her hand.

Garen did not take it. "I appreciate the gesture but there is no need for that."

The crowd had gone very quiet.

Xin-Zhao shouted. "Garen has forfeited the match, Katarina wins."

Silence, no one even booed.

Garen stood and bowed. "Well fought, Lady Du Couteau." Garen turned. "Also, as for the Crownguard pin that came into your possession...you may either return it to me or throw it aside. I do not care which." And then he strode off the field.

Garen did not come to the match that following week. Nor was Katarina able to find him except where duty demanded him to be. He ceased to wander after her and now she no longer had to plan her steps to avoid him.

Fear and panic, deep and stupid and primal, began to set in. To Katarina's horror she found herself compelled to seek him out. She even started going to the King's weekly courtly hearings, sitting through the hours of peasants and royalties petition the king, all just to get a glance at Garen.

All to just get Garen to look at her.

Yet he did not. Whenever she looked into his eyes they were ice. It was like the moment when, after her fake attempt at Jarvan's live, Garen eyes went cold, except there was no flash of the other Garen underneath. Her Garen.

 _Have I killed my Garen?_

The thought of it sent her mind careening.

 _Take it back!_ A loud voice would scream in her mind. _Take it back, go back to him and tell him you take it all back. Tell him you will be with him and that you will be his if only he is yours again._

Ironically, these thoughts seemed to prove her decision. For a man, for a Demacian, to have this much power over her was unacceptable. But it was taking every ounce of her training not to give in.

Another week passed, and each day was more tortuous than the last.

Then suddenly, something changed.

It was like storm clouds had gathered over her world, but were suddenly gone. Her feelings had not changed, nothing had changed so far as she could tell.

Yet everything had changed.

Katarina felt all this as she awoke from a dark dreamless sleep. He skin was placid, her body wet as though she had been sick.

Jehusannah stood over her.

The sun had not yet come over the horizon so the room was covered in shadow.

Jehusannah was still.

Too still.

"Jennia, is something amiss?" Katarina asked.

Jehusannah's stillness broke, and for a brief moment Katarina sensed that she was shaking.

 _She's scared._

No, she was horrified.

"I…" Jehusannah's voice broke. "I just wanted to see how my mistress was doing."

It would not have been more apparent a lie if Jehusannah had declared it openly.

Katarina sat up. "Jehusannah-"

"I apologize for waking you." Jehusannah all but fled from her.

Stillness.

Katarina went through the day in a haze until she was in the king's courtroom.

Despite herself, she still sought Garen.

She looked around the Great hall, men and women of both noble and low birth milled before the King. Beside the King stood Xin-Zhao and a man who Katarina had dimly noted to be Garen's father. On the King's head sat the great golden crown of Lightshield, like a crystalline mountain outlined in gold.

Her eyes fell on Garen. He stood beside the Prince, and wore the magnificent armor of House Crownguard, blue and white beaten into the metal so as to make his armor shimmer in the sun. On his already exquisite physique, he looked near a god.

He did not even seem to notice she was there.

 _Look at me._ The thought came involuntarily. _Look at me please._

Garen did nothing.

It hurt, but not as much as it had before.

Something was wrong.

The doors flew open with a deafening bang, and a disheveled man was lurching towards the King. The crowd grumbled but moved out of the man's way.

Katarina's heart sank. No one interrupted the King's court like this.

She watched the man stumble up to the King's chair and roll out a parchment with shaking hands.

Katarina saw the man mouth the words "Shurima" and "Marcus."

The King's eyes scanned the letter, then his eyes fell on her. Thousands of people were in the hall, but his eyes found hers as though they were the only ones in the room.

The King's eyes were full of sadness and something she had never seen before when they were upon her.

Pity.

A deep pity.

A pity so deep it was clear that for a moment the King forgot he was King of Demacia, for moment the King was a boy.

For the first time, Garen was completely forgotten.

The King closed his eyes and stood. "Court is adjourned."

There were gasps and and complaints, the King never adjourned court this early.

So many nevers were happening today.

Katarina went to the throne.

The room became silent again, all eyes fell on Katarina. No one approached the King without the leave of his guard. When they stirred to stop her the king raised his hands.

"My lord." Katarina said with icy formality. "Is there news of my father?"

Silence.

"Katarina," the king said slowly. "This can be spoken of in private."

"I would have it spoken of now!"

Xin-Zhao pounded the floor with the butt of his spear. "Lady Du Couteau, you presume! You do not make demands-"

The King put his hand on Xin-Zhao's shoulder.

Why did that scare her? Shouldn't he be angry. He should yell at her, have his guards restrain her. This…

The King spoke slowly. "A few days ago, your father, sister, and brother were separated from their main host by a freak sand storm as they marched in Shurima. I have just received word that their camp has been found. It had been set upon by bandits.

"Your father is dead, Katarina."

Nothing.

Numb.

What?

Who was she?

Nothing.

"Your sister is missing, presumed taken by the bandits."

She's only twelve.

What would bandits want with a twelve year old girl?

No.

No.

No.

"Your brother is in critical condition. By all rights he should be dead, but somehow he holds on."

Oh but he won't though. How could he? How could there have ever been anything before this moment?

"Katarina, I am so sorry." the King whispered. "...I know what it is to lose a father. I..."

Movement.

Katarina turned.

Garen had broken rank, left the Prince, and stood alone with her on the dais. Tears streamed down his cheeks, as though the ice in his eyes had melted. Winter had given way, as she now knew it would, and her Garen returned to her.

"Katarina," Garen whispered. "I am so sorry."

Garen held out his arms.

It was like someone else had taken over her body. Her feet hauled her into those arms, and her face buried itself in his neck.

And she wept.

And wept.

And wept.

Slowly she regained the ability to think, and not simply feel crushing and suffocating pain.

 _I've lost everything! House Du Couteau is in ruins!_

No. It wasn't. There was still one Du Couteau left in the world.

She was House Du Couteau.

And House Du Couteau was weeping like child in front of all Demacia.

Katarina screamed as she tore (and it felt like she was tearing herself) from Garen,

And pushed him to the floor.

"Take your hands off me!" Katarina screamed. "Do you know who I am? I am Katarina Du Couteau! Daughter of Marcus Du Couteau, heir of house Du Couteau!

Never touch me again, you Demacian dog."

Garen, sprawled on the ground, a demi-god thrown down, looked at Katarina with pleading eyes. "Katarina." Garen whispered. "Please."

Katarina straightened herself and turned to the King.

"Lord Jarvan Lightshield, may I have your leave?"

The King nodded, and Katarina turned her back on them all, and marched herself to her room.

Jehusannah was waiting for her. Sitting on her bed with her hands clasped.

"You knew." Katarina said.

"I should have told you." Jehusannah looked up at her, tears streaming in her eyes. "I just...I couldn't."

"Leave me." Katarina said.

"Katarina I am so-"

" _Katarina," Garen said. "I-"_

"Leave!" Katarina shouted.

Jehusannah bowed, and left.

Katarina collapsed on her bed and let her grief fully wash over her.

It was night before she was coherent, and that only made things worse, for now she replayed memories of her father and sister, their faces bright and sunny, forever lost to her, her world, completely lost to her.

 _I want my father._

But she could not have her father.

 _I want my sister._

But she could not have her sister.

 _I want Garen._

Katarina paused.

 _I want Garen._

Katarina pushed herself from the bed.

She could have Garen.

She ran to the dressing cabinet and searched frantically for the the silkiest nightgown she could find. She found a silk dressing gown but damnable Demacian modesty was apparent in every stitch, but with a few cuts she was able to make a serviceable garment.

She would go to Garen, she would go into Garen's room, and then take Garen into herself.

 _He has my heart._ Katarina thought. _Why not my maidenhead?_

"Bastard." She breathed. "Making me come to him like some common whore."

She'd do it, though, if it meant being with him, if it meant feeling something other than the crushing nothing she felt now, she would be his whore. She would be his whore gladly.

She was halfway to the door when a voice sounded in her head.

 _You cannot do this._ A stern voice, a voice that might have been her father's.

"Yes I can." She whispered. "I want to, I need to."

 _What if he denies you._

Then she would plead.

 _What if he continued to deny you?_

Then she would beg.

He would not deny her then.

Her hand was on the door when the voice said.

 _If you go to him, you will not have the strength to leave him._

And she knew it was true.

 _So?_ She thought frantically. _So what if I can't leave him._

House Du Couteau falls.

Katarina froze.

The power vacuum left by her father's death would be contested, and if she were married to Crownguard she might as well forfeit the contest.

 _What if I take him with me? What if I convince him to come with me to Noxus, and renounce Demacia?_

Then the Garen Crownguard she knew and love would die.

She took her hand away from the door.

Demacia was as much part of Garen as Noxus was of Katarina. To ask him to leave it would to ask him to become someone else. She had known this all along, but only now could see it clearly.

If she went to him, either she would abandon House Du Couteau, or the Garen she loved would be no more.

Katarina wailed, collapsed on the floor with her back to the door, and cried.

Garen heard Katarina's wail, her door shake, and then soft weeping.

His forehead fell against her door, grain and longing diggin into him.

For what may have been the hundreth time that night as Garen stood in the hall just outside of Katarina's door he had to fight to keep himself from entering her room.

He had followed her shortly after she left the court, only half aware of what he was doing. He saw Katarina's maid as she ran down the stairs. He wanted to go in but he consequences were too dire. At best, she would scream, call him a Demacian dog, and demand he leave. At worst, she wouldn't.

At worst, she would ask him to comfort her, and he would, whatever that comfort would be. It'd be wrong, but he couldn't help himself.

 _So go in there and make her your wife._

His fingers brushed her door, but he held himself back.

Garen believed if he went in and asked Katarina to marry him, she would say yes.

Which is why he didn't do it.

When he first realized this he almost had pushed Katarina's door open, but then a thought followed.

 _What if our positions were reversed?_

What if Garen had gone to Noxus, what if it had been Garen's family murdered by brigands, what if it had been Lux taken away by bandits, and what if it had been Garen's duty to rebuild the Crownguard house?

Now would be when he was most vulnerable. Now would be when he'd most likely compromise his ideals. Now he would be willing to do anything just to get rid of the pain.

 _If only she could see, we can be together without either of us sacrificing our nations._

But was that true anymore? Marcus Du Couteau's death would send shockwaves across the empire, across all of Valoran. Would the armistice hold?

Garen put his hand on the door, and shook his head. Everything he ever wanted, and all he had to do was push.

Why couldn't he just-

"Garen." It was a soft cry on the other side of the door, but it rang in his ears.

"Katarina?" Garen spoke before he could stop himself.

Garen felt the door give way, and then Katarina stood before him in a slip of a night gown and tears filling her eyes.

Her beauty struck her harder than it had when he first laid eyes on her.

"Kat…"

Wordlessly, Katarina took Garen by the hand and lead him towards her bed.

"Katarina please."

Garen still wore his plate, and when they were near to her bed Katarina was busy unfastening the straps.

When his armor was off she reached to undo his britches.

He enveloped her in his arms.

"Please Katarina." He whispered. "Just let me hold you tonight."

It was a last desperate bid. He would not leave her now, could not withdraw from her, but it didn't need go beyond this.

Katarina buried her face in his neck and began to cry.

"Okay." She whispered. "Okay."

She had intended to go further that night, but inside his arms she gained some stability, and in that stability she realized she was exhausted and fell asleep.

Garen, watching her sleep, chuckled to himself. _If I just kept my mouth shut, I would've lost my virginity to the love of my life._

To Katarina's great surprise the sun arose the next morning. Part of her had assumed yesterday was the end of everything. She nuzzled into Garen, admiring his warmth, his sturdiness.

 _Gods, how did I not take him into me last night?_

"Are you awake, Garen?" Katarina asked.

"Yes." Garen said.

"What happens now?" Katarina asked.

Garen idly stroked her hair. "I think you have to go back to Noxus. Restore your house."

Katarina didn't say anything right away.

"I wish you would come with me." Katarina said.

"I could." Garen said.

"But not in the way I want." Katarina said.

"No."

Neither of them spoke for a while.

"I don't think we can join our houses now." Katarina said.

Garen sighed. "No, not yet."

"Maybe," Katarina whispered. "Maybe after I restore House Du Couteau, maybe then."

Garen did not respond.

"Garen?"

"You are assuming Noxus and Demacia won't be in open war by then."

"I suppose I am."

"I hope we aren't."

"So do I." Katarina held him tight. "So do I."

Katarina was escorted out of Demacia the next day. Garen watched her go from court, fingering the small knife with the House Du Couteau emblem on it. As Katarina rode, her hand would occasionally fall upon the pin of Crownguard she now wore across her neck.

It would be more than six years before they saw each other again.


	7. Chapter 7

Marcus Du Couteau's death was not a shockwave throughout Noxus: It was an earthquake. Old rivalry between houses became verbal and then violent to the point of all but open war. Many of the houses were championing Noxus return to conquest, that Du Couteau's death was proof of what happens when Noxus forgets its destiny. It was this Noxus Katarina returned to.

She was not surprised to find her relationship with Garen was widely known throughout Noxus, nor was she surprised when it was used against her. One man, Lord Krakencall of House Sullenmarsh, went so far as to call her a "Demacian dog's whore" to her face. Katarina slit his throat before his family and friends, and as he died she whispered in his ear. "I'm not killing you because you called me a whore, I'm killing you because you called him a dog." She killed the guards and escaped, and after that moment any secret hopes the vassal houses had of bending the daughter of Marcus Du Couteau to their whims was robbed.

The Noxian army was leaderless only for a moment. Leftenent Swain hailed himself as General Swain, and appointed Darius Basillich as his right hand. Together Swain put down those dissenting leaders within the army, and then marched back to Noxus Prime to put down the noble house revolts. Katarina quickly declared her loyalty to the general, though some wondered whether this loyalty was complete. However, while Darius was seen Swain's right hand, Katarina quickly became seen as the left.

Valoran watched all this occur over a year with trepidation. Ionia, for the most part, did nothing, using the time to heal and watch. Piltover, for various reasons, also championed a hands off approach. Others did a little more, like Demacia, who used Noxus instability to strengthen its border kingdoms. Some feared this would set off a war, but Demacia was careful to work completely within the armistice. Othes did much more, Gangplank used the opportunity to ravage Noxian coasts as he never had previous. None, however, used the instability to declare war on Noxus, as the people had grown used to the peace.

During this time both Katarina and Garen wrote many letters to eachother; Only Garen sent his. Katarina read one, and then never opened them again. Upon seeing the chaos in Noxus, and knowing her father's pain over it, Katarina vowed to do nothing but serve house Du Couteau until it was restored to its former glory. To that end, she knew that reading any more of Garen's letters only served to put her resolve in her mission.

But she kept them all. And oh, but she came close many times, and more than a few letters had their seals at least partially broken.

A small amount of stability was just beginning to settle in Valoran when a dark force began to move in the Freljord. Soon, the tribes displaced by the Avarosan and Rageborn ascension began to descend south to Demacia, wielding magic theretowith unseen and with ghastly effects. Demacia had to defend its northern border with an urgency it had not needed since its foundation, and the Noxian nations did not let the opportunity slide. Indeed, it seemed full scale war between Noxus and Demacia was inevitable.

Then, three years after the death of Marcus Du Couteau, the empire of Shurima returned. Omah Azir, the last Ascended, arose from the sands, and with him the Sun Disc. Calling upon the broken tribes to reunite, and wielding the very sands of Shurima itself to his bidding, Valoran found a new nation had arisen overnight. Any ideas of easy conquest were quickly reigned in, and all the nations went to securing its own borders.

It was around this time that Luxanna Crownguard revealed she was a mage, and further began to advocate for the open use of magic within Demacia. Garen was thunderstruck. He had never guessed it, yet it had been obvious looking back, as such things were. Garen hated neither mages nor magic (at least magic in itself) but harbored the older Demacian distrust of magic wielders. Those who felt it was valid to use a power that almost destroyed the world were considered guilty until proven innocent in his eyes. Unsurprisingly this created a rift between Lux and Garen, and all saw the toll it took on him.

But that was not the worst to come for Garen.

Three years after Marcus Du Couteau's death, the Noxian border nation of Shiko began a brutal campaign against its Demacian neighbors, Occtigonia being particularly singled out. In a bid to raise spirits in the region, Prince Jarvan planned to visit personally. This proved disastrous, as their escort were waylaid along the road, and the Prince went missing. Garen, who was mortally wounded, fought to find his friend, but lacked the strength to go on. When Garen awoke three days later he came to the same conclusion as most of Demacia, Prince Jarvan was dead. Garen returned to Demacia, expecting to be discharged in dishonor. To his absolute horror, he was instead praised by the sorrowful King, and given his retired father's place as leader of the Dauntless Vanguard, Demacia's elite fighting force and personal guard of the King.

When Noxus heard of Jarvan's death, there was rejoicing, except in House Du Couteau. Katarina, who had thought her feelings long since dried up for Garen, found herself compelled to go to Demacia and offer her condolences. Garen had been good to her after all, and comforted her in her grief. She was returning the favor, that was all. She even went so far as to make travel plans, but then General Swain gave her an order she could not refuse. Her sister was alive and in Shurima, and Katarina was to bring her back personally.

Amidst everything, one would assume that the shifting of national power was the most important development in these six years. However one would be mistaken. Standing above, albeit without towering, over the many events was League of Legends. Originally the League of Heroes, it was the brainchild of Jayce Giopara, it was a match between two fighters of exceeding skill. Incidentally he was one of the first fighters. Augmented and broadcasted with the combination of magic and technology that was Hextech, it went from a phenomenon localized in Piltover to spread to Zaun and even Bilgewater. The turning point came, however, when Jayce was contacted by a mysterious group of mages who dubbed themselves the Summoners.

The Rune War ripped multiple tears in reality. Some of these tears became akin to pocket dimensions, spaces with rules both like and unlike the rest of Valoran. These "summoners" found ways to 'project' a copy of themselves into these other realities, and found that in some of these realities the copy could 'die', but with no harm done to the real body in the real Valoran. The bodies could even be resurrected with minimal effort.

In trade for funding and a cut of the profits, the summoners told Jayce they could make a place where fighters from all across Valoran might fight to the death, only to be brought back again, and in a reality that could be altered to suit his whims. Jayce agreed, Summoners Rift was formed, and the League of Heroes became the League of Legends. Champions from all over Valoran went to participate, and its popularity grew to such heights that even Demacia, with its deeply ingrained distrust of magic, allowed the summoner's to set up in the capital of Demacia.

So freakishly influential was the League of Legends It was said to have stopped a war between Piltover and Zaun. An explosion in Piltover had been officially deemed an accident, but unofficially assumed to be the work of Zaun extremists. Disaffection grew on both sides, until both sides were preparing for armed conflict. Then Viktor Zaranov, one of the de facto leaders in Zaun, approached Jayce with an offer. He bring four other combatants to fight with him in the Summoners rift from Piltover, and Viktor would bring four from Zaun, they would advertise it as a grudge match, and they would use it to redirect at least some of the aggression between the two cities. To the world's surprise, it all but ended the war. The aggression and rage channeled almost entirely into match hype, and when Piltover lost, it wasn't war they wanted but a rematch. Over time, those in Piltover would find Champions they favored from not only Zaun but from all over Valoran. In short, the League allowed the world to see and cheer for people of all stripes and backgrounds.

Yet the League of Legends would go on to do much, much more.

 **(Garen)**

Unni watched as the last of the elderly and disabled limped into the camp. They were reeking, worn, broken, and covered in grime. They had been three days running from the northern barbarians, and most of the young and able-bodied had long since run ahead south.

Now Stele, an ancient man with a hump on his back and a stump where his left foot should have been, told her to do the same.

"Don't waste your time with us, girl." The crochety old bastard, the very last to enter into the camp, said. "Go with the young and healthy others. Tell them to rot in Hell for me."

Unni smiled. "You'll have to do that yourself, I'm not leaving any of you."

Stele snorted. "You wouldn't be the first mayor to abandon your people for your own skin."

"Those mayors weren't true Demacians."

Stele spat. "True Demacia? When has Demacia ever really cared about us?"

It was funny in a way. Stele was one of the oldest most stubborn men Unni ever met, yet he was more willing than any younger man to speak against the acquired assumptions. The young these days had embraced their Demacian heritage even more, despite only being part of a northern vassal nation.

"It's your arm that's wrong, not your legs." Stele said. "Run on em, the gods were good enough not to screw you that much."

Unni looked at her shrunken right forearm and flexed fingers smaller than a child's from little more than a stub.

"No, Stele, I'm not leaving. That's final."

Stele snorted but said no more.

They walked through the camp as the sun set. In the distance the fires of the barbarian camp were closer she expected. They would be on them in a day, maybe less.

Unni was scared, perhaps not as scared of death as she should be, but still scared. She would not show it. Even as death came she would not abandon her duty as mayor. Demacian duty saved her life the least she could do was give it back.

Unni laughed. _How noble of me._

She became aware of someone running and huffing across the camp, and as she turned in that direction she saw a man running towards her, and a stir in the camp behind him. It only took Unni a moment to recognize Toryg from his club foot.

Toryg ran to her, hunched over, and put his hand on his knees and said between gasps for air.

"Garen, Garen Crownguard."

Unni rolled her eyes. "Oh now Toryg, don't tell me some odd fool is calling himself Garen Crownguard."

They had learned of the northern barbarian invasion almost a week ago, and as they packed to leave there were rumors Garen Crownguard was riding north in defiance of the King, and he planned to single handedly turn back the horde.

 _Yes, and there were rumors of Prince Jarvan returned from the grave on the back of a dragon._

People always cling to the fabulous in times of distress.

Toryg shook his head. "No, it's really him."

Unni patted Toryg on his head and walked past him towards the gathering crowd.

 _It's wrong to instill false hope in people._ She doubted very much that the whoever was parading as the Son of Demacia was doing so for noble reasons, but regardless giving false-

Unni froze, and her breath caught.

The crowd had parted, and before her stood Garen Crownguard.

There was no mistaking the man for anyone else; in the resplendent armor of the Vanguard, shoulders broad enough for five men, and sky blue eyes; Garen did not meet the descriptions told of him, he exceeded them.

Garen stood beside a tall white stallion, and there was a man (Ivaon? But he ran ahead yesterday?) who pointed Garen in her direction. Garen turned, saw Unni, and smiled. The action turning his face from intimidating to endearing.

"Unni Wintercrow?" Garen said.

Unni nearly swooned. "Yes?"

Garen walked towards her. "I am Garen Crownguard, and I am here to help."

Garen held out his left hand.

Unni blinked, and gave Garen her right hand.

Garen nodded. "What you are doing is very brave, Mrs. Wintercrow."

"Ms. Wintercrow." Unni said unnecessarily. "But it is only the job of a true Demacian."

"You are absolutely right." Garen said.

Unni looked behind Garen, and for the first time realized a sizable band of soldiers had followed him, but it was clear none of them were the Dauntless Vanguard. In fact, many of them were some of the younger of their village come back.

"If you don't mind me asking, Lord Crownguard." Unni started.

"A woman who is willing to protect all of her citizens ought never call me 'lord,' call me Garen."

 _By the Gods, he really is like all those tales._

Unni smoothed out her travel dress. "Yes, well, Garen, I was wondering where the rest of the Dauntless Vanguard were?"

Garen's face grew grim. "I'm afraid they are still in the Rock of Kings."

"You're here alone then?" Unni asked.

Garen smiled. "Not alone." Garen's hand swept over the soldiers behind him. "These men and women of Demacia have volunteered to fight alongside me."

"Absolutely not!" Stele appeared, and to Unni's horror he glared at Garen. "Absolutely not!" Stele stamped his good foot. Then he went to Garen and poked him in the chest. "The Son of Demacia will not kill himself and healthy young people for the sake of a bunch of useless old codgers and cripples like us!"

Garen's face grew cold. "Useless?"

Garen turned away, and muttered. "Useless?" And for a moment his eyes were distant, as if in memory.

Then he turned back to Stele. "You know, the General Izsha said as much when I asked her to send soldiers to aid in your escape. She did not put it so, but that is what she meant." Garen addressed them all now. "In the rest of Valoran a person's worth is measured by how much they can do. But not in Demacia. In Demacia each gives as much as they can, and to each is given as much as is necessary. Any and all who do this, who give as much their all for their people, are worthy before the Gods, and they are worthy before Demacia.

Unni." Garen turned to her. "It is apparent you give your all for your people, so your word can be trusted. Tell me true, does this man give all he can to your village."

Unni looked at Stele, who was shaking. "Yes, Stele is right old fart about it, but he does all he can."

"Then he is my equal." Garen put his fist over his heart and bowed to Stele.

Stele turned away from Garen, from all of them, and walked away.

It took Unni a moment to recognize Stele was crying, as in the two decades she had known him he never did so.

Before any of them could reflect on this there was a great barking of dogs in the distance.

"They're coming." Unni said horrified. She had thought they were camped, but some of them must have gone ahead. Garen whistled and his stallion came running. Garen leapt on its back and said to Unni. "Rouse the camp, tell them to run, we will hold them off as long as we can, try to redirect them. Try to make it to Sapcreek, if you cannot go that far hide in the forests."

Before Unni could say anymore Garen turned to the soldiers behind him. "We fight for those who cannot not! But that is Demacia's strength! Demacia's might! Let us show these cowards the might of Demacia!"

Garen turned the stallion amidst cheers and charged towards the sound of barking. When he crested over the hill he saw a group of barbarians had broken off from the main camp and would be on them before the sun set. There were five hundred at least, men and women garbed in hard leather and faces painted with blood. Garen turned and looked at his own soldiers, two hundred at most.

Garen had asked none of them to come, and he knew now none of them would leave.

"We push them back into the craigs if we can. If not, we try to divert them into the river."

Garen considered letting them know they could leave now if they wished, but he had told them all as much along the way, and those few that would have left did. What remained now were true Demacians.

 _So I will die with sisters and brothers beside me._

Garen realized he did not expect to make it out of this alive.

The realization bore no fear or sorrow.

Garen was unaware of it, but his finger was over the spot where the small black dagger he wore on a gold chain.

Garen turned and charged the stallion into the oncoming horde. There were surprised sounds in the barbarian camp, then laughter as spells and arrows were hurled towards them. All bounced harmlessly off his armor, and the laughter ceased.

"Cleave their ranks!"

The barbarians had not even formed a line and they rode down dozens within minutes. For a moment Garen thought they might have enough of an advantage to win, but the barbarians closed ranks and mounted spears and began to close them in.

Garen leapt off the back of his horse and barrelled into the line. The barbarians, shocked turned towards him. Their spear points followed. This break in the spear line gave the riders enough room to ram through the barbarians formation and begin mowing down horseless. Garen swung in his sword in great arcs, cleaving three or four men with each swing. The Barbarians were again taken aback, but some of the more battle hardened closed ranks.

Garen planted his feet and raised his sword. Three barbarians circled him, one wore the bloody mask of a blood witch, while the other two were ravagers with crude iron in each hand.

One bellowed through yellowed teeth and mist seeped his mouth like steam from a horse and the barbarian charged Garen.

Garen pivoted and let the man bumble past. The other, who must have hoped to take Garen while he was distracted, did not have time bring up his weapon before Garen near cleaved him in two. The witch threw a red bolt of magic at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his percite armor. Garen decapitated her the next moment. Then Garen advanced upon the remaining barbarian, who did not look half so fearsome with the ruins of his comrades around him.

Out of the corner of his eyes, a splash of red.

Garen froze.

Out of the crowd a woman appeared. A barbarian with red hair, wielding an axe in each hand.

For a moment, Garen couldn't move.

That moment was all the female barbarian needed to toss an axe into Garen's neck.

His armor prevented the blow from being fatal, but only just.

Garen stumbled back, and the two barbarians he faced may have fell on him if a Demacian woman had not intervened.

"Unni?" Garen rasped. "What are you doing?"

The mayor smiled over her shoulder. "Stele's right you know. We can't have the Son of Demacia die on us."

Just as she finished the sentence the red-haired barbarian leapt on Unni's shield and began to hack away with her axe.

For a horrified moment Garen could only watch as the two barbarians closed upon the mayor.

Then Garen stood, ripped the axe from his throat, planted his feet again, and yelled. "I will not falter!"

And Garen spun.

The male Barbarian was midway between turning towards Garen, so his severed torso faced one direction while his legs another when the former hit the floor.

The female barbarian had enough time to turn and deflect some of the blows, but she could not do so fast enough, and in a moment her hand came back an utter ruin.

Then Garen tackled the barbarian to the ground. He raised his sword and froze.

Even facing death the barbarian looked defiant.

 _She's an enemy of Demacia_. Garen thought.

So why was he hesitating?

The woman reached behind her back and pulled out a knife.

Garen thrust his sword in the woman's heart.

For a strange reason Garen could not name, he could not watch her die. So he stood and stumbled to Unni.

She lay on the ground, breathing hard, tears streaming down her face.

Garen looked around the battlefield. The Demacian's were fighting valiantly, but they were outnumbered, and Garen had seen enough battles to know the fight would turn soon.

Garen helped Unni to her feet. "Leave now, your people need you."

Unni shook her head.

"Unni, are you going to make me use my office as Highguard?" Garen asked.

Unni chuckled. "I guess I am."

Garen sighed, and blew the horn at his belt.

"Demacians, to me!" Garen shouted. "We will try to lead these barbarians away! Lead them to—"

A shadow passed over all of them, and all heads turned toward the sky. Another horn blew in the distance, a Demacian horn, as the purple dragon landed upon the field. It took in a breath and began to alight the barbarians in dark dragon fire. A figure leapt off the back of the dragon, and right to Garen's side.

Jarvan the IV took off his helmet and shook his head.

"You know, Garen, I had it all planned out. I was going to return to my father with a head of a dragon in front of the entire court. I had been planning it for months, I even had a speech written out. But then I catch wind that Garen Crownguard is planning on valiantly throwing his life away, and I have to upset all of my plans."

Garen registered that a line of Demacian banners had appeared over the horizon, and an army of Demacians greater than the barbarians were closing ranks around them.

Jarvan thumbed towards the army. "You'll also have to apologize to them, I had to wake an entire garrison and send them riding fifteen leagues."

Garen stood, dumbstruck, and began to prod Jarvan's face. "It can't be." Garen said.

"I promise you it is." Jarvan said as he swatted Garen's hands away.

Garen punched Jarvan.

"You bastard!" Garen said. Then he embraced him.

Then Garen remembered the battle.

"Jarvan you must leave!"

Garen looked around, and saw the battle was over. A third of the barbarians were aflame, and the rest were putting down their weapons at the point of Demacian swords.

A purple skinned woman hesitantly approached Jarvan and Garen.

"Ah Garen," Jarvan said. "Let me introduce you." Jarvan put his arm around the woman, who blushed. "This is Shyvanna. She is a dragon. She is also my wife."

Before Garen could begin to process Jarvan's words a cheer went up among the Demacians, and Garen found himself surrounded by men and women from the village, even some of the elderly and crippled were there.

They touched Garen and Jarvan and wept.

"Garen Crownguard has saved us."

"Prince Jarvan saved us!"

"Demacia remembers!"

"Garen brought back Jarvan!"

"Hail Jarvan Lightshield!"

"Hail Garen Crownguard! Hail Demacia's True Son!"

Chants and cheers went up, but then, starting in the back there was silence, or a single chant had arisen and seemed to hold the crowd captive.

"Garen Crownguard." An old hunchback said. "the Might of Demacia!"

And soon the cheer was taken up by all.

"Garen Crownguard, the Might of Demacia!"

 **(Katarina)**

The Shuriman den stank of perfumes and spice. Even as Katarina slipped past guard and servant she could not escape the odor.

 _It has my sister's marking._

It had taken the better part of a year for Katarina to find her sister's trail and a quarter of her resources. Far too much time, and far too much money.

 _But that is to be expected from Cassiopeia._

It was said of the Du Couteau children (though never to their faces) that Marcus' brilliance was split between them, Katarina receiving the martial prowess and ruthlessness, while Cassiopeia received the cunning and intelligence.

 _I will prove them wrong._

Today would be the day she found her sister.

Today would be the day she killed her sister.

Katarina knew why Swain had commanded her to find Cassiopeia and bring her back. Swain wanted leverage, a trump card to guarantee her loyalty. He thought having her sister out in the open and under his thumb would be that leverage.

She would prove him wrong.

She would kill her sister, rid herself of all her weakness, and become the sole true Du Couteau. She would be betraying her father, but she would also be transcending him.

 _No sister, no father, no general, no kings, no gods._

It would be only her, she would be the master of her life.

When she came upon an ornate wooden door Katarina knew she had found her sister's lair.

Lavish silks lined the dark room, busts and statues from all over Valoran lined the walkway to a hearth and a large green cushion in the center of the room. There were minitaure trees carved in the fashion of Ionia, a statue of Demacia's Ebony Lord (Katarina caught herself giving that one a second glance for some reason) and even the strange dark carvings of the forgotten kingdom of the Shadow Isles.

"Do you like it, Kat?"

Katarina froze, the voice was wholly familiar, and in that familiarity was an alien ness she had never known.

The green cushions shifted, to reveal a woman.

 _No, not a woman._

What Katarina thought were cushions were in fact part of a snake like body at least twenty feet in length. And atop of that body, from the waist up, sat her sister.

In the near decade since Katarina saw her Cassiopeia had grown into the beautiful woman Katarina always knew she would be. Slender and graceful, with dazzling eyes, her beauty shone through even under the snake-like features bestowed by her curse.

Katarina had known that Cassiopeia had been cursed or scarred, but Cassiopeia was able to hide her true self to even the highest in her criminal ranks.

"How did you know it was me?" Katarina asked.

Cassiopeia laughed. "Oh Kat, you were never much of one for subtly. Especially when you tried. I knew you were looking for me almost as soon as you landed in Ali-Wah. A red haired Noxian with a scar skulking in the shadows and looking for Cassiopeia? Who else could it be?"

"I thought I killed everyone who saw my face." Katarina said.

"Oh Kat, not even you could do that." Cassiopeia said. "The girl who put breakfast on your table each morning in the hostel? The ship captain?" Cassiopeia smiled. "The beggar in Noxus Prime who you so graciously give a bronze piece to each morning on your way to see Swain?"

Katarina started to go cold, but caught herself.

"So, you know why I here?" Cassiopeia's expression did not change, but this in itself showed the effort Cassiopeia put in the act. "I have guessed it."

Katarina walked towards her sister. "What have you guessed?"

"That you've come to kill me." Cassiopeia said.

"Why would I want to do that?" Katarina asked.

"My guess, to cut out all your weaknesses. What was it father said? 'Cut out those weakness you can' I believe it was?"

"Why didn't you reveal yourself to me?" Katarina found herself asking.

Cassiopeia blinked. "You come to me with daggers and ask why I didn't give you a chance sooner."

 _It might have been different then._ Katarina thought. _I would have been weaker...I might have let you live._

Her resolve was slipping, she needed to end this quickly.

"After father died I was taken as a slave by the bandits who killed him." Cassiopeia said. "They did things to me, you can imagine. But they awoke something in me. Father. When I lost it all, I gained my true inheritance." Cassiopeia tapped her head with taloned nail. "My mind. I knew that my situation was dire, that I could not immediately escape back into the Noxian army. By the time I had my head on right the Noxian army had returned to Noxus Prime. So I waited, bided my time, built a small empire. You should be happy to know, all the men and women involved in Father's death died screaming." Cassiopeia sighed. "All save one, I stabbed her in the back and left her for dead, my current condition was the result."

"Impossible," Katarina said. "You were only ten when they took you, you could not have done so much in the span of four years."

Cassiopeia smiled. "You see? I am the daughter of Marcus."

"No." Katarina's hands tightened on on her daggers. "You are a monster."

For a moment Cassiopeia's face broke into shock, but was quickly smoothed over. "Oh? What's so bad about being a monster? 'Monster is what the lamb calls the wolf.' Is that not one of the sayings of Noxus?"

Katarina lunged at Cassiopeia.

Her knife on a direct course to Cassiopeia's throat.

 _I'm sorry sister._

A flash of metal from the shadows.

Katarina retreated.

Two figures walked from either side of Cassiopeia's cushion.

"I gave you a chance, Katarina." Talon said. "But you really meant to go through with it."

Across from Talon, Jehusannah shook her head. "You are not the Katarina I knew."

"You're right." Katarina said. "I'm not."

"Then killing you will not be as painful." Jehusannah said. She withdrew a glittering scimitar as Talon flourished his cloak, knives scaled across it like a miniature armory.

Jehusannah sighed. "I almost wish you had married that Demacian boy, Gar—"

Katarina threw one of her combat daggers at Jehusannah who barely blocked it. Cursing her mistake Katarina dove for the dagger and caught it but Talon was there and she had just enough time to deflect a swipe from his the knife in his hands but then the cloak moved and cut her across the arm. Katarina cursed her forgetfulness and retreated.

Only to encounter Jehusannah.

It had been near six years since Katarina had seen Jehusannah, but her body remembered their sparring as though it were back in Demacia.

 _No, I can't think of Demacia, not now!_

They danced dagger and scimitar. Jehusannah had gotten much better since their last fight, but she was nowhere near as good as Katarina. Katarina slipped under Jehusannah's guard as she parried an attack that was not coming and the way towards a killing blow was open.

Katarina hesitated.

It was the first time Katarina hesitated from a killing blow in years.

It may well have saved her life, because one of Talon's daggers passed through empty air where her heart might have been.

Katarina cursed and leapt back, landing on a great wooden bust of some god or saint in Ionia. Surveying Talon and Jehusannah below Katarina knew she was more than a match for Jehusannah, but Talon was her equal.

 _Together..._

Jehusannah and Talon stalked around Katarina's perch, flanking her.

Katarina cursed and leapt off the statue to keep them both in front of her.

It had been a mistake.

In keeping both Talon and Jehusannah in vision she gave her back to her sister. She heard a rustle and learned her error just in time to feel Cassiopeia's body envelope her. Cassiopeia squeezed, and Katarina's blades dropped useless to the floor.

Cassiopeia's smile was hysteric. "My dear sister, you forgot to embrace me." She squeezed harder, and Katarina began to feel her bones strain. "We have so much of it to do."

Talon and Jehusannah fell in to either side of Cassiopeia, and Katarina saw she had lost.

Katarina laughed.

All of Katarina's work, all the blood, the conniving, her life's goal lay in ruins around her. The only emotion greater than loss in her then: relief.

"You truly are Marcus Du Couteau's daughter, Cassiopeia. You are the true heir of House Du Couteau. Father…

 _Oh, but what right do I have to call myself his daughter now?_

"Marcus would have been proud."

Cassiopeia face went blank and Katarina felt her grip slacken by an inch.

"Don't let your guard down." Talon said. "This isn't over until she is dead."

Katarina looked at Talon, and was met with rage.

"I can do it." Talon said.

"No." Cassiopeia said absently. "It should be me."

Talon's face made a jarring transition from rage to concern as he looked to Cassiopeia. "Cass, you don't—"

"Cass?" Katarina asked. She hadn't heard Talon say Cassiopeia's pet name in years.

"How long did you know she was alive?" Katarina asked.

It was Cassiopeia who answered. "He discovered me shortly after my curse."

"And you didn't tell me?" Katarina said.

"What!" Talon's face exploded into anger. Katarina never saw him like this. "You ask now! After you tried to kill your own sister! You honestly wonder why I hid it from you!"

"I asked him too." Cassiopeia said. " I was ashamed of what I had become. But enough of this, Talon. Give me the knife my sister almost killed me with."

Talon looked at Cass uncertainly.

Jehusannah, however, picked up the knife.

Cassiopeia took it and smiled.

"Thank you both, for all you've done for me." Cassiopeia eyes flashed red like light on fire opal. Talon and Jehusannah suddenly jerked, went rigid, and fell to the floor.

Cassiopeia slackened herself from Katarina enough to allow Katarina movement of her arms.

I petrified them." Cassiopeia nodded to Jehusannah and Talon. "It won't last long. Just long enough for you to do what you need to do."

"Cassi" Talon struggled the words "Why?"

Cassiopeia sighed. "I'm sorry Talon, I thought I could do it, but I can't. I can't kill her."

Cassiopeia looked at Katarina.

"When father died...he died protecting me. Kat, I thought it was my fault father died, I believed it for so long."

Cassiopeia looked at a plaque above the hearth, and for the first time

 _No I had seen it before but I ignored it._

Katarina saw that it was their father's breastplate hanging, embroiled on the chest as the red lotus of House Du Couteau sprouting from the head of Noxus sigil like the a third eye of an awesome monster.

Cassiopeia looked at the plate for a long moment, and slowly her face began to change; each moment her face was becoming the face of the girl Katarina had known.

 _No!_

Katarina lunged for the dagger in Cassiopeia's hand.

Cassiopeia prempted her, and almost casually withdrew the knife from her reach.

"Not yet, Kat." Cassiopeia said. "Not before I tell you...I missed you Kat. I missed you so much. I knew Swain sent you to me. And I knew what you meant to do. I should've felt betrayed..but you know what I felt? Happy. I was going to see you again. I thought when I finally saw you it would sink in, and I would feel the proper anger. But do you know what I felt?"

"Stop." Katarina said.

"Joy. You have become so beautiful Kat. So beautiful and powerful. As I always knew you would be."

Cassiopeia offered Katarina the dagger.

"You'll have enough time to kill me, but not enough to kill them."

And true enough, Katarina saw Jehusannah and Talon were begin to move.

Katarina took the knife.

 _I have to do it now!_

"Why?" Katarina asked.

"I thought I wanted House Du Couteau, but...that wasn't true. I wanted my family. I don't want to be heir unless I can be heir with you, Kat."

Cassiopeia smiled, and she was the child Katarina had left so long ago.

"Do what you need to do, Kat."

Katarina took the blade, and made to thrust it deep into her sisters throat.

At least that is what she should have done. That is what she told herself to do, but instead she found herself throwing aside the dagger and embracing her sister.

"I'm sorry." Katarina wept as she clung to her sister. "I love you Cassiopeia, and I am so so sorry. I didn't mean it, you're not a monster, you're beautiful."

Cassiopeia hesitated only for a moment, then she began to weep and returned her sisters embrace.

Cassiopeia gave Katarina a room in her estate to sleep in. They spent the whole night alternating between talking and crying and laughing, they lost track of time, and sleep fell upon them so suddenly that neither were quiet aware of it until they were waking up. For the first since they were kids Cassiopeia and Katarina shared the same bed, and despite everything it felt as though nothing had changed.

It was Jehusannah who awoke them as she entered with a plate of food, sweet smelling rice and savory smelling noodles topped with a red yogurt sauce and served with yellowish bread and brown meat still simmering.

"It is Kolush." Jehusannah said with a smile at Katarina's inquisitive glances. "Cassiopeia's favorite."

"Oh?" Katarina looked at her sister, both of them were still in night silks. "Is this what you have been using Jehusannah for? A maid?"

Cassiopeia snorted. "Of course not. She's my personal bodyguard."

"For how long?" Katarina asked.

Cassiopeia took a plat from the entree, then considered the question. "Four years?"

Katarina looked at Jehusannah, who blushed and turned away.

"Why did you bring this up? You haven't brought me food in ages." Cassiopeia said.

Jehusannah fidgeted.

Then it hit Katarina. "It's like old times, isn't it, 'Jennia'"

Jehusannah looked away.

Katarina reached out to her. "Come, hug me, sister."

Jehusannah hesitated, then embraced her.

"Sister?" Cassiopeia asked.

"She kept you safe for four years, she has more than earned the right to be called me sister." Katarina said.

"No." Cassiopeia said. "Our sister."

Jehusannah gasped, broke the hug, and dabbed her eyes.

"Oh, what proper Noxian we are." Jehusannah said. "I think some of Demacia rubbed off on us, Lady Du Couteau."

Katarina laughed. "I suppose it did. Embracing our weaknesses." Katarina took Cassiopeia's hand. "But I am so glad it did."

They talked and ate for a while, then the door burst open to reveal a stark faced Talon.

"Swain is here." Talon said.

The three of them were on their feet (figuratively for Cassiopeia, of course).

"He is in Ali'wah?" Cassiopeia asked.

"No." A voice, male, deep, coarse, like the sound shifting rocks echoed from the bottom of a well.

 _Darius._

Darius appeared behind Talon.

Darius was a bear of a man, arms with circumferences approaching carriage wheels, with a face hacked out of a mountain, his dark hair with a single white line, like a crevace, to belie his age.

Talon spun around and produced two knives.

Darius didn't blink.

"Swain is in your foyer." Darius eyes found Katarina. And they fell, as they always did, to her chest, and instantly away again.

It was the closest Darius ever had come to bashful. Even now, after having seen her breast bare (and then some) he still did it. Granted, it had been the better part of two years since he had seen them last, Katarina still found it endearing.

It was about the only endearing thing about him.

Darius nodded to Cassiopeia. "We await your audience."

Cassiopeia's foyer as as true to Cassioepia's taste as the rest of her mansions. Luxurious to the point of turgid, utterly extraneous fountain statues of men and women in various poses lined the walls, a frozen hall of dancers and laughers pouring water out of various orifices and into a pond lining the walls. In the center was a stone table near one hundred feet in length, its pillars carved into the likeness of animals that almost looked alive, its top carved into a canopy of jungle brush, with flower plates blooming atop it.

Swain sat on the other end of the table, and the world around him seemed darker than the rest, the grandeur of the room seemed to die here his shadow fell. Gaunt, his build was not large but strong, and his hair so blond it was nearly white. Next to him was a pale, lanky, blonde, snakelike man who Katarina knew to be Vladmir, the blood mage.

"I apologize for imposing on you unannounced, Cassiopeia." Swain said. "But I hope to make up for it."

"Why are you here?" Katarina asked.

Darius stood next to Swain now, and Swain regarded Katarina. "Cassiopeia has not told you?"

"Told me what?" Katarina asked.

"That he knew you were planning on killing me." Cassiopeia said.

Katarina gasped. "What?"

"That," Swain said absently "or Cassiopeia would kill you."

Katarina took one of the knives off the table and was about to throw it at Swain when Cassiopeia put her hand on Katarina's shoulder.

Swain nodded. "Katarina, you are far more predictable than you think. Unlike your sister."

"Why?!" Katarina demanded.

"Because he fears us." Cassiopeia said.

Swain gave them both a level look, then nodded. "Do you know what was said of you two while your father was alive?"

"Don't you dare talk—" Katarina started

"They said," Cassiopeia said. "Father split his talent into two, and gave us each half. I got his mind, Katarina got his martial power."

"It was a disservice. To you, not your father. For you see, the truth is that if Marcus Du Couteau gave you his talents, you have since outgrown it. Apart you are both worthy heirs of Marcus, but together, you surpass him."

"And you?" Cassiopeia asked.

"And me." Swain said. "I surpassed your father, but by leaps, not jumps. But of all the men in the world, the only man who came close to my equal was your father."

"Bullshit!" Katarina said. "You were father's leftenent! He was the High General. He towered over you!"

"He did, providing me a long shadow. Tell me, from where comes the deadliest strike?"

"From the shadows." Cassiopeia and Katarina said together.

Swain smiled. "See, even now you are synchronizing."

"How did you know?" Cassiopeia asked.

"That you two made peace?" Swain asked. "You are not the only ones with spies, Cassiopeia."

"So what now?" Katarina asked. "Are you here to kill us."

"No." Cassiopeia tilted her head. "You're here to parlay, aren't you, Swain?"

Swain smiled.

"Why should we trust you?" Katarina screamed. "You manipulated us!"

Swain visage darkened. "Everything I did, I did for the glory of Noxus."

Katarina did not want to believe it, but she knew it was true. She had worked under Swain long enough to know that above all else, he cherished Noxus.

Swain went on. "You both were becoming too great. Cassiopeia's international crime and spy network, Katarina's skill. I knew it would not be long before I lost control of one of you, and when that happened, I could not count on you two not finding the other on your own accord.

"But one, only one, I could handle. I had assumed it could be no other way, just as I had assumed only one of you would have come out alive. I was wrong on the second count, and now, I hope, I am wrong on the first."

"What are you proposing?" Cassiopeia asked.

Swain leaned forward. "The strongest must rule, that is the law of all things. But that is not what Noxus needs at the moment, at the moment Noxus need me, unchallenged. But so long as you two are a threat to my rule, Noxus is in jeopardy. So I ask one simple thing. Do not be a threat to my rule. Swear allegiance to me, be loyal to me, and I will reward you. I will give House Du Couteau three times the lands it had before."

Katarina blinked. During the quasi-civil war many of Du Couteau's lands seceded, but if Swain were being true, this would restore House Du Couteau's place as the undisputed first house of Noxus.

"That's nothing next to the whole of Noxus itself, Swain. You cannot believe it a fair trade."

"No," Swain said. "But the second offer I am going to give you might be."

"Which is?" Asked Katarina.

"The location of the Black Rose. More importantly, the location of LeBlanc."

Cassiopeia gasped so loudly Katarina almost jumped.

Katarina knew of the Black Rose, the shadowy organization said to secretly manipulate events in Noxus and all over Valoran, but the name Leblanc meant nothing to her.

"Cassiopeia, who is LeBlanc?"

Cassiopeia looked directly into Katarina's eyes. "Leblanc is the leader of the Black Rose. Leblanc is the woman who orchestrated father's murder."

They looked at each other for a moment, and they both understood.

"Swain, you have a deal." Katarina said.


	8. Chapter 8

Garen had grown up in the imperial court and the militia, ceremony and display had been in the water he drank since was old enough to stand. After suffering noble ball after ball, his wardrobe was bloated with enough silk and satin and velvet shirts and suits to accoutre a small legion. Yet nothing in his experience approximated the pageantry they received on their three week return to the Rock. When they approached the first village, Lumberbrough, it seemed every man, woman, and child would come to them miles before they arrived, and when they did arrive the village itself was not empty but full to the brim of villagers from neighboring villages and farms. They rode through marbled streets underneath a shower flower petals and palmleaves, the air heavy with their sweetness. Men cheered and women wept and children did both while dancing in front of their procession. Jarvan, of course rode at the head, glinting in his royal gold armor, shone to a glare belying its years of inattention. Dragon fire, its seemed, could refine as well as it could destroy. Jarvan, of course commanded Garen to accompany him, in his full Dauntless Vanguard regalia. Jarvan smiled and waived to the crowd, and Garen did the same though it was a strain on his cheek to do so. The woman, or rather the dragon, rode in Jarvan's saddle for a while, wearing a stunning gold and red dress which clearly caused her pain. The crowd seemed to accept her unconditionally. Men would kiss her hand and children would give her flowers. Eventually this all proved too much for her, and she whispered into Jarvan's ear one day, and then Garen did not see her in the saddle the next morning.

All the while the crowd shouted Jarvan's name, which was fine. Then they would shout Garen's name, which was less than fine. Then they would shout "Garen Crownguard, the Might of Demacia" which was not fine at all. He had just begun to shed "Son of Demacia," and now the people saw fit to give him an even more absurd moniker? No one man was the 'Might' of Demacia, wasn't that fact a core Demacian value?

Garen revisited these thoughts dourly as he sat in a room in the mayor's chateau. By that point they had made it as far as Kaylesrest, and were nearly halfway to the Rock. The room with a red Shuriman carpet, gold trimmings along the wall, and flowing furniture of Occtigonia ( which gave the appearance of having been molded off of flowing water suddenly frozen), felt wrong. The room and the chateau overall was no overly palatial in comparison to the houses at the Rock, just in comparison to the houses at Kaylesrest. Garen made a mental note to inquire after the mayor's personal finances.

Garen was sitting at stonewood desk, penning his letter to the Governor of Winterstand to have Unni Wintercrow given the Demacian Mark of Honor and Courage when Garen heard a familiar voice.

"You seem in dour spirits old friend." Jarvan said.

Jarvan wore a silken robe, and with his long hair plastered to his skin he had clearly just come from a bath. Garen turned to him and smiled, and saw Shyvanna was with him. She too wore a silken robe, and she too had clearly come from a bath. He immediately got to his feet, nearly knocking over the ink pot.

"My lady." Garen said and bowed.

Shyvanna responded much as a child would when meeting a stranger as she slunk behind Jarvan, her blazing eyes at contrast with the dimunity of her glance.

"Go easy on her Garen, she isn't used to all this yet. But tell me, Garen, what has you looking so glum."

Garen frowned. "It's this "Might of Demacia" buissness. Why do people insist on calling me such names? Does Garen not work?"

Jarvan looked perturbedly at Garen. "Even after all these years, you still don't get it."

Jarvan's wife took the moment to sit on the Occitgonian armature beside the bed, upon which she bounced with an almost childlike curiosity.

"What don't I get?" Garen asked.

"Garen you…" Jarvan rubbed his temples, trying to find the right words. "Garen, the name isn't about you. Well it is, but not in the way you think so. It's a decoration to a beloved symbol, which is what you are. Don't look at me like that, you must know it to be true!"

Garen sat down and picked up his pen. "I am no symbol, I am just a man trying to do his duty."

"Gods be good Garen, you mean that! Do you understand how insane that is?"

Evidentally Jarvan read from Garen's face that Garen did not understand, so Jarvan sighed and paced around the room.

"Garen, the people are scared, the world is changing, and change is a bitter draft for a Demacian on their best days. Between the League of Legends, the rise of Shurima, and all the madness with Noxus, people fear that Demacia...well that it's way just can't survive. But you, Garen, you are living breathing proof that it can."

"The people themselves are the proof of it." Garen said.

Jarvan laughed. In that moment Garen realized he could never express how much he had missed that laugh.

"And you mean that!" Jarvan said. "Thank the Gods you do! So many heroes are false, but the Gods sent you to us to show how much Demacian discipline can withstand the trappings of power. You're right, the people themselves are what make Demacia, but people need symbols just as they need mirrors, they need other realities to show them their own."

Garen shook his head, but smiled. "You still speak in circles. Nothing's changed Jarvan."

Jarvan shrugged. "Speaking on things that haven't changed, are you still a virgin Garen?"

Garen stood abruptly, hit his knee against the desk's cupboard, and where he had failed before he succeeded in knocking over the inkwell.

"I don't-"

It was then he noticed the spilling inkwell and cursed and drew back the letter and used his own cotton shirt to mop up the ink.

Jarvan coughed. "Garen in the future, would you be so kind as to not disrobe in front of my wife?"

Garen froze, and then turned to Shyvanna who, through some strange bodily alchemy of the dragon, blushed pink.

Garen put on his ink blotched shirt and bowed. "Apologies, my lady."

"It's fine...but why do you keep calling that?"

"My lady?" Garen said. "You are the princes' wife, after all."

Shyvanna looked confusedly at Jarvan.

Jarvan put his hand on Garen's shoulder and took him aside.

"As I said, Garen, she's somewhat new to all of this." Jarvan said.

"To royalty?"

"To being in public."

Garen looked at Shyvanna, who rocked slightly towards their direction.

"Tell me again how you came to her." Garen said.

"I didn't come to her, she came to me." And Jarvan recited how, after the ambush Jarvan was able to fight off the attacker but found himself wounded and in critical condition. Then Shyvanna stumbled upon him, and nursed him back to health. Jarvan listened to her story, she had been born with a rare Draconic disease. Older dragons could take on the form of humans, and as was inevitable with such an opportunity they mated with humans. Some times these half dragons would mate with a full dragon, and so on until the child was to all appearances a dragon. However something went wrong in the mating, and occasionally two 'full' blooded dragons would mate to find that they were not so full blooded as they thought, and give birth to a deformed dragon who was born and spent an inordinate amount of time in a human form. Her father protected her, her mother wanted her killed. Her father raised her in secret, but her mother found them and killed him.

"So, as thanks, I vowed I would help kill her mother."

Shyvanna smiled lovingly at Jarvan, but spoke to Garen. "Tell me, are most humans so brazen?"

"No." Garen said. "Just Jarvan."

Shyvanna smiled at Garen, and then her smile faltered and she turned away.

"What is it my lady?" Garen asked.

"She's afraid you will not accept her." Jarvan said.

"How could she possibly think that?" Garen said.

"I'm a dragon, and you're a Demacian. You hate creatures like us. You hate magic."

"We do not hate magic!" Garen said. "We simply acknowledge its danger. We simply remember the Runewar. Humanity can get by without it, and we believe it would be better for doing so. But you, you're a dragon. You have no choice in the matter!"

Shyvanna looked up, hesitant.

Garen did not see it but Jarvan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Garen went on. "Magic is part of what you are. If it were to be taken from you...well there wouldn't be a you left. How can any fair Demacian hate a being for what they cannot control of themselves?"

Garen went to the couch Shyvanna sat, Shyvanna withdrew slightly, her tail disappeared between the armature's cushions like a frightened snake.

Garen knelt. "My lady, you saved my prince, you saved my best friend. I am now your man as much as I am his."

Shyvanna turned pink again and hid her face in her hands. "Jarvan make him stop."

"I do not know if I can do that, my lady." Jarvan said smirking, then his face hardened. "Garen...you understand that not all Demacians feel as you do, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that many Demacian's do hate magic. They neither consider, or care about the constitutionality of magic to a creatures life, some Demacians think that any creature of magic is, ipso facto, evil."

"Ipso-what?"

"It's dragon tongue, well one of them anyway, apologies I've let some of the vocab I've picked up from Shyvanna slip into my day to day conversations. It means, by the fact that."

Garen stood and shook his head. "Any Demacians who do not consider the circumstances of an individuals birth and station in judging them is no true Demacian."

Jarvan laughed, and again it hurt Garen how sweet it was to hear that laugh again.

"Garen," Jarvan said. "I think you might be the only true Demacian."

Despite the one week ride it should've taken to arrive to the Rock of Kings, they found two weeks had gone by the time they arrived to the Rock of Kings. It was as though every Demacian within a league had come to see the resurrected Prince, or as they were beginning to call him (much to his ill concealed delight) the Antiphon, an old word for "return" or "answer". When they finally arrived Garen had hoped the pageantry would be over, but the greatest spectacle was yet to come.

Roses, Lilacs, Lover's Heart, and Maiden's Valley filled the streets of the Rock as if the flowers mistook the gilded streets for their natural home. All the stores were closed, all work had been halted, it was for all purposes a holiday. All along the streets to the castle the highborn and low born stood, all dressed in finery and bedecked and cleaned. Jarvan, Shyvanna, and Garen rode at the head of the column amidst a downpour of petals and praises and song. Then they were dismounting, inside the castle, and approaching the throne.

The King stood in his grandest robe, a long flowing cloak patched with the insignia of house Dragonbane in gold finery, his eyes beaming with tears as he looked down upon his son.

Jarvan took Shyvanna's hand, and took a step up the dais. When Garen did not follow he paused and tilted his head.

"Well, come on, "Might of Demacia."" Jarvan said.

Garen was about to protests when the King nodded to Garen.

So the three ascended the stairs together, Jarvan in his golden doublet with a black cravat, Shyvanna in a flowing red dress which was just as beautiful and plainly discomforted her, and Garen still in the full regalia of the Dauntless Vanguard.

When they reached the top of the stairs the King ran to his son and embraced him. A great cheer that Garen had never heard the like of before swell and burst throught the halls and down into the antechambers. The King stepped back from the embrace and then kissed his son on the forehead, and held. For a moment Garen thought his face changed, that the age and the years that always seemed to flee before the Kings visage seemed to pile upon him all at once, like an ambush beset by enemies not dead but hiding. Then his face returned to the King and he stepped back and smiled at his son.

The room quieted.

"My son has returned to me! Today is a great day in Demacia! Tell me, my son, how did you come to me?"

The Prince turned to Shyvanna, who looked like she would rather be anywhere.

"Father," Jarvan said. "It is by this woman I have returned to you. If not for her, the Shikian arrows would have ended me. But she nursed me back to health. This is Shyvanna, she is a dragon. She is also my wife."

Deafening silence in the hall.

The King stared at Shyvanna for a long moment, his dark eyes calculating. Then he took her hand, knelt, and kissed it.

"And my daughter."

Cheers throughout the crowd. Shyvanna, who had gone a shade of magenta and clearly could take no more, withdrew her hand and buried herself in Jarvan's arms, which only served to bring more cheers.

There was feasting, and laughing, and Jarvan regaled all about how he and Shyvanna had vanquished the dragon. Shyvanna clung to Jarvan as though he were driftwood in a torrent sea, and indeed spumes of livery in the form of women would come forward and crash upon Shyvanna with questions. Jarvan would answer, and then he would nuzzle Shyvanna and whisper something in her ear and she would giggle and seem less disturbed.

As the day drew towards close, Xin Zhao appeared before Jarvan and Garen and Shyvanna, and informed them that Jarvan and Garen were to meet with the King that night in his personal study.

They did so, but Shyvanna came with. When they arrived, Garen could hardly recognize the man behind the grand wooden desk. He had the face of the King, but only insofar as a portrait of man drawn from dim memory. All the joy and exuberance seemed to have drained, bled out under the knives of his station and age. When they entered his eyes flew straight to his son.

The King said nothing.

Jarvan, off guard, stepped forward and coughed. "Father, I imagine we have much to discuss. I know you asked for me to only bring Garen, but whatever you have to-"

The King's face curdled and he moved faster than any man his age had a right to. In a blink he was before Jarvan.

The King backhanded the Prince. The Prince, whether due to shock or the force of the slap, fell backwards. Garen was too mortified to move.

"Two years!" the King bellowed. "Two years, I sent spies out into those lands, I searched every nook and cranny, I found no trace! I thought you were dead!"

The King shook now. "I mourned you! I was mourning you!" He advanced upon Jarvan. "I-"

Shyvanna was there, eyes level with the King.

"Do not hit him again." Shyvanna.

The King blinked, then his face again curdledin rage. "You dare order the King Regent of Demacia!"

"Do. Not. Hit. Him. Again." Shyvanna said, and her face gave her draconic heritage the argument entire.

The King studied her for a moment. "Garen," the King's eyes did not leave Shyvanna. "I had planned to order you to return to work as Jarvan's personal bodyguard...but it seems you will stay with the Dauntless Vanguard. Shyvanna has the job now."

It hit Garen then that he had, for the second time, failed to protect the Prince. It also hit Garen that were he had failed on both counts Shyvanna succeeded. He looked to Shyvanna and there was a pang, brief but searing, of jealousy. But it was flooded and cooled with admiration.

Even if the King of Demacia raises his hand against him, Shyvanna is there to stay it.

Shyvanna must have felt Garen's gaze for she turned to meet his eyes.

Garen nodded to her.

She nodded back.

The King turned towards his son. "She is to always be by your side, do you understand?"

"There was never any question of that." Jarvan said, rubbing his cheek. Then he put his hand on Shyvanna's shoulder, and whispered something into her ear. Then the Prince said. "I am sorry Father, I...I should have contacted you sooner."

Garen heard pain in Jarvan's voice, and then he saw a crack in the bravura he had never seen before. For a moment, both the Prince and the Kings were like struck children.

The King turned to his desk. "You are right, my son, we do have much to discuss."

The King rounded the desk and fell into the chair and exhaled with the cushions, exhausted. "Swain has broken the Black Rose."

Prince Jarvan stepped forward, any memory the previous events seemingly forgotten. "No!"

The King nodded. "I received news of it only a few days before you arrived." The King looked up to the ceiling, whether as a reflex or as a plea to the Gods Garen couldn't guess. "It seems your arrival bears some providence. If I had still believed you dead, I would have ordered a full assault on Noxus Prime."

"The armistice!" Jarvan blurted.

"The armistice be damned. Noxus is at its weakest right now, but it will not remain so. If there were ever any opportunity to remove it from the map it is now. My advisors are split on the issue. Half suspect the danger, though they do not know its full breadth, and the other half cling to the peace the armistice has brought."

"Pardon, my Lords." Garen said.

"Oh Garen," Jarvan waived dismissively. "We are utterly past that."

"What is the Black Rose?" Garen asked.

"Even we don't know the full answer to that question." Jarvan said. "But the short answer is that it has been both a check against Noxus power and perhaps its most dangerous threat to us."

"Without the Black Rose, Garen." The King said. "Noxus is off its chain."

"Noxus had a chain?" Garen asked.

"Yes, had." Jarvan said. He turned to his father. "How is this possible?"

"Apparently you are not the only one returning from the grave. Marcus Du Couteau's daughter-"

Something inside Garen, in the very pit of him, clenched.

"Cassipoeia did not die with her father, with her at his side Swain fought his way into the very heart of the cabal. It is even rumored that LeBlanc is dead."

"LeBlanc," Garen said with an ironic smile "the witch of nightmares, the one we tell our children to keep them from wandering out at night? My lords…"

The look the King and Prince gave Garen brook no argument as to their seriousness.

Garen frowned. Gods alive, how much do I not know?

"What are we to do now?" Jarvan asked.

The King sighed and turned his gaze heavenward again. "I do not know."

"Well, I do." the Prince said. "Nothing, we keep the armistice at all cost."

The King cocked an eyebrow at his son. "I would've assumed after everything Noxus has done to you, done to us, that you would be the last to wish the armistice secured."

"I don't want the armistice, I want peace."

Garen suddenly got a slight sense of vertigo. Peace with Noxus?

He couldn't believe it, but his heart rebelled against his head.

The King leaned forward. "Peace? That is a strange turn. Demacia and Noxus at peace? How do you imagine that?"

"Father, Demacia is not defined by its war with Noxus." the Prince said.

The King shook his head. "But it is, in part."

"Things change, and this needs to change."

Had the Prince gone made while he was in the wilds? Garen thought.

The armistice was barely holding as it was, but to assume it could be strengthened into a full blown peace…

Hope.

Fear.

The King frowned. "What do you have in mind?"

"I...don't" Jarvan chuckled. "I have no plans at the moment. Give me some credit Father, I did just get back."

"You always were a dreamer, son." His father said in stark tones but with a twinkle in his eye. "Which reminds me." The King leaned pack, and from his drawers pulled out a large stack of mail.

"News of your resurrection has reached all across Valoran, and many letters have flooded in to congratulate you on overcoming your brief bout of death."

Jarvan examined the stack of papers dismally. I get back to Demacia and that very night I have to deal with paperwork. He groaned internally and began to rifle through the papers. There was some from Lady Korellia, oh she was not going to be happy to hear he was married, there was some from Lord Levington, probably about the finances Jarvan had promised him before he left, and…

In embroidery too geometric and colorful to be Demacian, there was a letter written from Jayce Giopara.

He opened it.

 _Hello Jarvan,_

 _Good to hear you are not dead, quite an unfortunate state to be in. We should talk sometime soon. Perhaps you've heard of the League of Legends, I suspect not even being dead could have prevented you from doing so. It is sort of a big deal. Well, I think a match between Noxus and Demacia (or Demacia and Noxus we can talk about the billing later) would be a fascinating venture. On an unrelated note, did you hear about the tussle that was brewing between Zaun and Piltover? Funny, after our little League grudge match things seem to be going pretty well between us._

 _In any event, we have much to discuss, and I have much to thank you for. It was, after all, our conversation all those years ago that inspired me to create the League of Legends. Do you remember it? If not I will remind you later._

 _Take care,_

 _Jayce._

 _P.S. I hear you've married a dragon. Tell me, does she do cartwheels?_

Does she…

Then he remembered.

Then he smiled. "As it turns out, father, I do have a plan."


	9. Authors Interlude

Hello dear readers,

TL;DR (author recommends you read)

I apologize for the long intermittent gaps between updates. I really appreciate all the comments and well wishes, it is a major inspiration boost! Truth be told if it were not for the continued interest I would have given up on this story a long time ago.

I can't make any promises, but I do intend to finish this story.

Thanks again,

OHaiMark

Full version (read if you are bored and have nothing better to do, otherwise skip):

I am going to break one of my self imposed rules, and that is to keep my damn trap shut. While I appreciate authors who interact with their readers, I am of the opinion that a work should speak for itself. I believe the best work makes you forget that someone made it at all and the creator fades into the background. To that end, I try to avoid diatribes and soap boxing. However, because of the long gaps between entries and infrequent updates I would like to take a minute to speak to that effect.

The story started out as an experiment, I wrote it with little expectations. Which is to say I did not expect all the positive feedback I received. It was this positive feedback that kept me writing, and it was this feedback that made me revisit the story a year after the fact. This is not to dissuade criticism, far from it! Nothing improves writing more than a solid critique. Even bad, ill intended critiques have their uses, especially if you're like me and hate makes you stronger. All this to say that if it was not for the comments and messages I received I may never have come back to this story, and these comments and messages are what keep me going.

Thanks for reading, and God bless!

OHaiMark


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 8:

A Challenge issued: A Challenge answered.

Freedom and its Discontents.

The Last Words of a Father.

* * *

Katarina traced the scar along her left eye with her fingertip, a long single stroke from the caneblade of the woman who had all but killed her father.

 _I will never remove this, this is my badge of honor._

Though it was Cassiopeia who got to do the bitch in, Katarina had more than remunerated the one called

 _Called_.

Leblanc.

She turned from her bathroom mirror to look at Cassiopeia, who was going through Katarina's closet. The sun filtered red through the windows, as it always had, the smog of industry from all the factories in Noxus Prime filling the air and turning the evening sky crimson. In this red filter Cassiopeia pliffered through Katarina's large Piltoverian Wardrobe (she had seen one while on a mission in the city and decided it would be a nice investment), gears turning as she opened drawers and slid doors.

"What do you think Swain wants?" Katarina asked.

"My guess would be that it has something to do with Demacia."

Katarina's heart missed a beat, but only one. "Why would you guess that?"

Cassiopeia slithered into the doorframe. "Katarina, do you not feel it? War is brewing."

"But the armistice?"

"Is coming to an end. The nobles mutter. They do not know what has happened, but they feel it. All of Noxus feels it. We are free, Noxus is truly Noxus. If we are to rule the world, it begins now."

Katarina considered that. It was always Noxus destiny to conquer the world but she always assumed the Ascension would happen well after her lifetime.

After Katarina and Cassiopeia were dressed well enough for the latter's feelings

(" _It might be Swain, but it is an imperial summons and one ought to look the part" Cassi said)_

They left Katarina's room and walked into the Great Hall.

 _Our hall._

Six years ago the room had been dusty and barren, the servants having quickly fled and the room sacked, the only thing left was the great portrait of Marcus Du Couteau looming above the main staircase. Now, after all this time, the room had been restored. Pieces of armor of fallen adversaries stood a silent vigil among the guardrails, artifacts from all over Valoran; a Freljordian Shaman's staff, a golden Shuriman scimitar from failed assination attempt on Swain's life, a piece of percite armor from a Occtigonian captain, and more; sat in display cases. House Du Couteau had been restored. Looking on her father's portrait and smiling.

 _We've done it father, house Du Couteau stands tall._

She looked into her sister's eyes. Cassiopeia nodded and took Katarina's hand, and they walked out into the red-black evening of Noxus Prime.

Swains office was a reflection of himself. All the books lining the wall were neatly placed, so neatly that one knew they were alphabetically and topical organize without reading a single book's binding. Swain's black desk, round monstrous and utterly practical, was bare of even the hint of clutter.

Taciturn, draconic, just like Swain.

The man himself, pale and dark in equal measure in a black army uniform overlaid with a shawl like congealed shadows, stood by his book case and read a large musty tome.

"Ah Cassiopeia and Katarina," he said without looking up. "Take a seat, Darius and Draven should be arriving shortly."

"Why are they coming?" Katarina asked.

"In due time." Swain said.

As was foretold Darius and Draven entered the room. The brothers Basilich were not so much like night and day, but dawn and dusk. The relation was apparent, but the longer one looked the less it could be seen. Darius was huge and muscular where Draven was ropey and lithe, but each carried a ferocity in their walk all their own.

During her brief affair (it could not be prefixed with love except by duplicity) with Darius she had seen more than she cared to of Draven (especially after one night of drinking in the Litro after her and Darius breakup, Draven had been as self-absorbed in bed as he appeared in public) Draven seemed bored and disinterested in the best of times.

Draven, however, was different today. Now he was all but hopping with anticipation.

Darius eyes fell on Katarina, did their typical flit, and then he nodded to them and took a seat.

Swain closed his book carefully returned it. "We are all here, good. I assume you are wondering why. Except perhaps Draven, who seems to have presaged the reason."

Swains cold eyes fell on Draven, and this slowed down Draven's exuberance, although not even Swain's stare could completely diminish it.

"Draven, would you be so kind as to explain why you are so ajaunt?"

Draven smiled. "We've been issued a challenge by Demacia."

Darius stood. "What! How! Why have I not heard of this?"

"Brother, you didn't let me finish. We've been challenged to enter this years _League of Legends_ tournament!"

Darius tsked and sat down. "Foolishness."

"I am sorry you think that Darius," Swain said. "Because we are going to answer it, and enter a team."

Draven leapt into the air and cheered. "Yes! I've been wanting to show those pretenders how a _real_ gladiator gets it fucking done! I'm the ADC right? Please tell me I'm the ADC!"

"The what?" Katarina asked.

Draven rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, even you have to know-"

Swain cut him off. "Yes, Draven you will be take the Attack-Damage-and-Carry role, as it is so churlishly called. Darius, you will maintain supply the primary force in the zenthitcal quadrant, which as I understand is known colloquially as the 'top lane.' Katarina you will maintain the axis. Cassiopeia...you will be our back up support to Draven."

"Backup?" Cassiopeia asked.

"Yes, I have another support in the works, but he may or may not be ready by the time the match begins."

"I'm sorry," Katarina said. " But I am utterly lost."

Swain tilted his head. "You have not found the time to divert yourself with the mass phenomenon that is the League of Legends?"

Katarina sneered. "No, I have not."

"You should, it is quite fascinating. In any event I will explain the rules to you at length in due time, for now I wanted to bring you all here so you may begin your preparations."

"We're still down a hunter!" Draven said.

"Believe it or not, Draven, I can count." Swain said.

This was enough to remove the smile from Draven's lips, if not his eyes.

"I will select a hunter based upon the composition of the team Jarvan will select."

"Jarvan, prince Jarvan will be participating?" Darius said incredulously.

"Indeed, it was he who issued the challenge."

Darius face melted from disbelief into calculation.

"It seems," Swain turned his attention to Katarina, "your stewardship in Demacia will become an asset in more ways than one. Quite unexpected ways. Your knowledge of and acquaintance with Jarvan."

Draven chuckled. "Oh she was acquainted with him alright."

Darius hit Draven in the arm.

"You are mistaken Draven," Swain said. "Katarina's love affair was with Garen Crownguard, not Jarvan."

For a moment Garen's face flickered in her mind.

She extinguished the thought before it could catch.

Cassiopeia leaned forward. "Why?"

Swain smiled. It was like seeing a snake smile. "Always the one with the right questions." Swain looked to Draven. "Draven, you may leave now. Go announce our plans to answer Demacia's challenge if-"

But at the word 'challenge' Draven scrambled to his feet and was out the door.

Swain drummed his figures across his desk. "Tell me, do either of you two (Katarina and Darius, it would be too easy if Cassiopeia were to answer) know how empires die?"

After a silence Swain inclined his head to Cassiopeia. "Will you say it or should I?"

"I want to hear it in your words." Cassiopeia said.

"Very well, there are two causes of an empire's demise: stagnation and overextension."

A shadow fell over Darius' face.

"What does that," Katarina asked. "Have to do with us fighting Demacia in a sham fight?"

"More than you could guess." Swain said. "Thanks to the actions of everyone in this room, Noxus is now free to carve its own destiny. Perhaps for the first time in its history. But freedom brings as many pitfalls as roads. One pitfall is the freedom to fail." Swain began to sweep the room, his voice dropped making it unclear whether he was talking to himself or them. "For all the necessity of the Black Rose destruction, they did perform a vital function in maintaining the empire. They kept its worse inclinations from killing itself. For you see, Noxus will never need fear stagnation, for there is a restless spirit that drives us, indeed it is the restless spirit of life in its purest form. But that same spirit will also be our undoing, if we let it.

Noxus is not, after all, invincible."

The words blanketed the room, muffling any other sound. It was a fact all the competent of Noxus knew, but it was not one said aloud. For Swain to say it...it was almost blasphemy.

"Darius," Swain spoke again, "You've heard rumblings of petitions to go to war with Demacia, correct."

"Not only Demacia." Darius growled out of the shadow like a grizzled bear in a cave. "Some generals mutter that Shurima is too fledgling to stop a full scale invasion. Others believe the Freljord is ripe for conquest and call for an increase of troops, there are even those who call for a return to Ionia…"

For the first time in Katarina's memory Swain's face betrayed a hint of naked emotion: rage.

"Do any of the last come from those who fought in Ionia?" Swain asked, his disdain dripping in every word like blood from a wound.

"What do you think?" Darius said. "The military was bloodthirsty before but now...it's almost crazed. You are right, Swain."

Swain considered Darius. "I had guessed it would've taken you more convincing, but your competence in military matters were, I see now, underestimated on my part."

Darius did not respond.

Swain turned to Katarina and Cassiopeia. "What say the sisters Du Couteau?"

Katarina looked to her sister, whose face grew thoughtful. "There is… truth to your words, but you have failed to explain why we are to go to the League of Legends."

Cassipeia shook her head. "What is it you want, Swain?"

For a long moment, Swain said nothing. His cold eyes only measured Cassiopeia, Katarina, and Darius in turn, like the eyes of some ancient stone watchmen.

"I want peace." Swain said at last.

Katarina barked a laugh. " _Merdi_!" She swore.

Darius face contorted. "Peace, with Demacia?"

"No. Peace with all of Valoran."

"Noxus has never been at peace!" Cassiopeia said.

"Noxus has never been free from the Black Rose, times change."

"But," Katarina insisted, "what about Noxus' destiny, about its restless spirit?"

"Yes, but we will need to find new ways to wage war, new ways to struggle. Open warfare, at this juncture, can only serve to harm Noxus. We need time to grow, adapt, change. Noxus will one day rule the world, but it is not ready at the moment, and will most likely not be until all in this room are long dead."

"But peace with Demacia." Katarina said. "Through the League of Legends?"

"Of course not only through the League of Legends." Swain said. "But it will be an aid, perhaps a powerful one, amongst...others."

Swain looked at Katarina now, and the way he looked at her sent chills down her spine.

"What other ways?" Katarina said coldly.

"Darius," Swain said, though his eyes did not leave Katarina. "Leave us."

Darius hesitated only a moment, then left with a grunt.

After a pause Swain said. "Katarina, did you know that Garen Crownguard is still unwed?"

For a moment, Katarina felt nothing, literally nothing, as though all her senses had left her.

Then heat rushed to her face, in a way that it had not since…

She forced herself to maintain Swain's stare. "So? What is that to me?"

"You are yourself, at the moment, unattached, correct?"

"No."

"You are attached then?"

"No, I am not attached but I will not do what you are asking."

"And what am I asking?"

Katarina stood, her teeth gritting. "You are asking me to attempt to reignite my love affair with Garen Crownguard."

At the words her heart beat a little faster, she gripped the arm of her chair to focus her attention.

"Am I?" Swain said.

"Do not bullshit me Swain, I know how you operate. It won't work."

"So, you will not consider the possibility?"

"No, I set my mind on that a long time ago."

Swain nodded to Cassiopeia "Like you set your mind to killing your sister?"

Katarina rose, her hands instinctively went to her concealed knives in her sleeves.

From beneath Swain's robes three crows erupted like night kestrels disturbed from a bush, and perched on his shoulders.

Swain gave a bare hint of a smile.

"Cassiopeia." Katarina said. "We are leaving."

Cassiopeia, her face unreadable, nodded.

When they were at the door, Swain said. "There is something I have that you may want."

Katarina looked at Swain contemptuously. "There is nothing in the world you have that we could want."

"Not even a letter from your father?"

Both Katarina and Cassiopeia froze.

"Bullshit." Katarina said. "Fucking Bullshit."

Swain went around his desk, and pulled out two letters. One was yellowed by age, crinkled, and blotched with blood. The other was only yellowed with age.

"Upon his death, your father had tasked me with delivering you two this letter, for it is the same letter, one was upon his person, and one was with me."

"You're lying." Katarina said, less sure of herself.

Swain pushed both of the letters forward.

Cassiopeia was there almost instantaneously.

"Cass, it has to be a-"

Cassiopeia turned to Kat with the letter in hand, and tears streaming down her face.

"Kat…" her index finger was upon the letter's seal.

Katarina looked, and saw.

 _Once, ages ago, when Cass was six and Katarina was twelve, the two of them had snuck into their father's study._

" _We shouldn't be here." Katarina said, though she made no real effort to stop her sister._

" _I just want to see it again."_

 _Kat bit her lip. "Can't you wait until Father's awake?"_

" _No I want to see it up close."_

 _Their father's room always smelled of parchment and oaken ashes from the fire. His desk, a great black-brown fortress, always reminded Katarina of the Hall of Heroes._

" _The things I do for you." Katarina said._

 _She went to the cupboard which housed their father's signet ring, but was shocked to find it was already open._

 _Katarina took out the ring, Cassiopeia scrambled to her side, her brown eyes wide._

" _Let me see!"_

 _Katarina grudgingly gave her the ring. Gold, signet, inlaid with ruby and crystal from Inarian glass, the signet of House Du Couteau on its face._

 _Cassiopeia held it with awe._

 _She always was overly fascinated with jewelry._

" _What is this?" A voice said from the doorway. Father's voice. "Thieves in the night?"_

 _Cassioepia screamed and threw her hands up, thus also throwing up the signet ring. It hit the chandelier, bounced off an old sword hanging on the wall, which evidently was enchanted for their was a brilliant spark, and then the ring landed serendipitously at their father's feet._

 _He took the ring and considered it._

" _Cassiopeia, you nicked my ring. Come here, both of you."_

 _Like prisoners to the gallows they came._

 _He knelt and showed them, and indeed one of the petals of the lotus of Du Couteau seemed to have a broken off._

 _For a moment both were aghast._

" _Father, it's my fault, I was the one-" Katarina began._

" _Father it was my idea!" Cassiopeia said._

 _Then they saw his face in the candle light._

 _Smiling, soft, endearing._

 _All fear vanished._

" _You two almost fooled me." he said proudly, "Now what am I going to have to do with you…"_

 _And he roared in his play roar and scooped them both into his arms, even at twelve her father was strong enough to pick her up, and twirled them around and tickled them, and they laughed._

The seal upon the letter had a broken leaf.

Katarina walked to the letter as if in a trance. It was the unblotched letter, Cassiopeia took the other.

Katarina shook her head, feeling the trap. "It doesn't mean anything, Swain could have…"

"No." Cassiopeia said, as she gingerly tore the seal, careful to leave the lotus unharmed. "They took his signet ring when they killed him."

Katarina rounded on Swain.

"Why do you give this to us now? Why didn't you give it to us as soon as we got back to Noxus? Why didn't you give it to me when I got back to Noxus?"

Swain shrugged. "Because I read it, there are ways of reading letters without breaking seals, and I feared what it might make you do if you read it. Especially then."

Katarin's hand once again fell on her knives. The crows cawed.

"Damn you Swain." Katarina said. She turned to Cassiopeia. "Cassiopeia, it's a trap, we can't…"

Cassiopeia was on the floor, weeping.

Weeping like she had when she was a child, like when she and Katarina had reunited.

Katarina began to shake.

Her hands betrayed her, and she found herself opening the letter, careful not to break the lotus.

It was her father's handwriting, strong and bold, but tactical, yet all without sacrificing aesthetics.

* * *

 _To my Daughters,_

 _If you are reading this, it means I have perished._

 _Please do not weep for me, for I go to find your mother again, wherever she may be._

 _My entire life, I have tried to teach you all I knew, all I thought would make you powerful, but there is one lesson I have withheld, for I could not afford to share it with you in life._

 _I have led armies, I have conquered nations, I have amassed wealth and status above and beyond any born from our name._

 _Yet I count it all as nothing next to the love I held for your mother. Before I met her, I had thought love was for the weak. And perhaps it is, and perhaps I am weak, but I would not have any other way. For if strength meant abandoning my love for your mother, I would gladly choose weakness. Your mother's love conquered me, and it was the best thing to have ever happened to me._

 _At least, that is what I thought._

 _In our courtship, I had thought I loved your mother more than I could love anything._

 _Then you two came._

 _With you, my capacity for love grew, I love you both in ways I never thought possible. Your mother will always be my first love, but you two are my greatest treasures._

 _If I had the choice between conquering the entire world in the name of Noxus, but the price was you two, then it would have been no choice. I'd give up everything I've ever had, everything I would ever get, for you._

 _When your mother died, I would have surely taken my own life, if it were not for you. If any man wanted to kill me, he need only take the two of you away from me. Do you see now why I could not say this to you, though I hope you know in your heart that it is so. But this is not the only reason I hid this letter. For in it contains the most important lesson I have to teach, the most dangerous lesson, but also the most rewarding. The lesson: find love. Wherever, whatever, or whoever it be with, find it. Cherish it. Nurture it, and let it grow. It will see you through all the levels of hell, through any trial and tribulation. It will break you, but it will also rebuild you. That is my secret, that is the power that guides the great general Du Couteau. All I do, I did, I did so that you, my daughters, may have the most I can give._

 _The secret is love._

 _Find a love that conquers you, as my love for you conquered me._

* * *

There was more, but Katarina's tears had finally blinded her.

"Damn you Swain." Katarina turned to the man, but he now faced the window and had his back to them.

Swain let a moment pass, surely not to give the Du Couteau sisters time to compose themselves, but for his own nefarious reasons.

Then he said. "Katarina, consider this, how would you have acted if I had given you that letter when you first arrived back to Noxus. I was certain, as I am sure you will agree no matter how loathe you are to admit it, that you would have fled back to the man whose signet you still wear around your neck."

Katarina gasped and clutched at her necklace.

 _How did he…_

He was Swain, of course he knew.

She thought again of tearing it off, throwing it away like the useless trinket it was…

But she would not give Swain that satisfaction.

"Swain." Katarina said. "I may have to kill you someday."

Swain nodded.

Katarina took her sister's hand and marched out of Swain's study.

They only made it to the steps before bursting into tears and wrapping into eachothers arms.


End file.
